


summer lovin' had me a blast (wait, no, that's just the leaf-blower)

by AdeleDazeem



Category: Legacies (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, F/F, Fluff and Crack, Hope/MG brotp, Summer Romance, all characters are 18+ for Reasons, background: MG/Lizzie, gratuitous mentions of snow cones and weed-eaters, on the Crack Scale this weighs in at a hefty 8 pushing 9, think 'hot pool guy' but less bathing suits more grass stains, yard guy!Hope, yes that's a thing now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:34:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 35,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25737379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdeleDazeem/pseuds/AdeleDazeem
Summary: MG and Hope work for Mikaelson Lawn & Landscape during the summers when they’re home from school. This year, the Saltzman yard becomes their favorite yard to mow.I wonder why that is...
Relationships: Hope Mikaelson/Josie Saltzman, Milton "MG" Greasley & Hope Mikaelson
Comments: 203
Kudos: 437





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is much goofier than my other fics for this pairing (sorry, guys, i just love me a good meet-dumb) but I think this summer could use a little easy-breezy romcom energy, whaddya say?

“Well, well, well if it isn’t the Ice Queen back from her fancy private school.” 

Hope turned towards the voice. “Milton, how is it possible you are even scrawnier than you were last summer?”

“Excuse you,” MG scoffed. “I went up a weight class. You on the other hand are still as socially stunted as ever.”

Hope shrugged. “Why change when you can just be a bitch?”

They stood there, staring at one another, brown eyes boring into blue before they cracked. “Get over here,” the boy laughed, pulling Hope into a hug. “I missed your feisty ass.” 

Hope missed him, too. There was always some idiot to snipe at at school and her family pretty much breathes banter, but nothing beats snarking with old friends. 

However, it wasn't really _them_ for her to admit that, so instead she said, “Someone has to keep you in check. The truck cab isn’t big enough for your hair and ego, too.” Which is just as good, really.

xxxx

This has been their routine since MG started working at Mikaelson Lawn & Landscape (or M-Double-L as MG has embarrassingly taken to calling it). They get their jobs done. They just so happen to bicker like siblings as they do.

Manual labor tends to be a make or break for relationships. The long hours in the sun and heat coupled with any time not spend outside in a yard being spent in the cab of a truck, most crews could tell in the first week if they would work well together or not. Hope and MG? They worked pretty damn well together. 

There was a time before that, though. Pre-MG, or as Hope lovingly refers to them when talking to MG himself, "the golden year." If MG were to tell it, he would probably roll some dorky Star Wars credits and dramatic music, but there was a time long ago, in a lawn not so far, far away, Hope worked at ML&L by herself.

Hope has officially worked for her family’s landscaping company since she turned sixteen and was legally allowed to have her name on a timecard. Before that, she may not have drawn a paycheck, but she was never far from the shop. After school, summer, whenever. Hope spent most of her days outside of school at the shop or on one of the trucks.

It started as a way to keep out of the house and keep busy. Once painting lost its appeal (for lack of a better way to phrase all of _that_ ) she needed to keep her mind away from certain dark places. Hanging out with her family and the rest of the guys at the shop was the best option.

But then...

“It grows on you, doesn’t it?” Her Uncle Elijah asked her one day as they were checking in gear before Aunt Freya locked up the shop garage.

Hope had nodded, then paused what she was doing, weedeater halfway to its hook on the wall. “Wait, was that a grass pun?”

“You bet your paycheck it was.”

When Hope first started, she would get paired up with Uncle Elijah for jobs. He’d show her the ropes -- how to edge a sidewalk perfectly or best mow around protruding roots -- and after particularly long, hot days they’d stop at the snow cone stand on the way back to the garage. 

The first few times Hope had protested. She was way too old for a snow cone. 

“What, you think this is for you?” Elijah asked before biting off a monstrously big chunk of his peach and wedding cake snow cone. It was way too big of a bite of course and he had to keep his mouth open, obnoxiously breathing around the brain-freeze. “Hhhonhh,” he said unintelligibly, mouth still gaping around the colorful ice.

Hope just waited, unimpressed eyebrow raised, thinking that her uncle’s bachelor status made perfect sense at times like this.

“Wrong,” he finally managed. 

When his next bite was just as big, Hope decided to give up the interrogation and believe him. He was way too excited about trying all of the flavors for there to not be some truth in his statement. 

Besides, she really couldn’t complain. In the summer months, when the Virginia heat and humidity were high enough to stifle, the icy treats were beyond welcome. Plus, the tiger blood flavor was stupid delicious. 

But then Uncle Elijah had to move back to New Orleans to take care of properties there and Aunt Freya, who handled the business-business side of things, had to switch up the crews to make up for his absence. It was right around this time that MG, a student in Hope’s class at the local high school, started working for them.

Which was perfect, because Hope was tired of riding third-wheel on other people's jobs.

Since Hope needed a partner, and she and MG theoretically already knew of one another, Freya bent the unspoken rules and paired up the two youngest employees. Although, as Hope argued, she wasn't "a rookie, Aunt Freya, have some faith," so there shouldn't be a problem.

Granted, they had assumed the same thing the year before when they'd hired on a different high schooler and quickly regretted the decision. But it was readily apparent that MG was nothing like that smug bastard Sebastian. No babysitting required for him, Hope was pleased to find out. All it took was one Saturday working with MG to see he was night and day different than that pale corpse from the year before. 

They’d had a particularly difficult job that afternoon. The Holdens yard was easily big enough to host the Mystic Falls’ football games. Not that that made Mr. Holden any less picky. He was just as neurotic about every blade of grass as if his yard was five square feet, not 5,000. 

When Mr. Holden stepped out on the porch and opened his mouth, Hope girded her loins. Mr. Holden, of course, took issue with the way MG was edging along the fenceline. He said so loudly and rudely.

MG was doing it exactly like Hope had instructed him to do that morning, Hope just assumed Mr. Holden was being a typical pain in the ass and asserting his dominance over the new yard guy.

MG didn’t even look in Hope’s direction as he stopped what he was doing and listened attentively to Mr. Holden’s redundant instructions. There wasn’t even a hint of sarcasm when he asked, “Like this, sir?” and then did a practice swipe. 

It was exactly the way he had been doing it before, except that when he went a few feet, he looked back up at Mr. Holden for approval, big smile on his face. 

Mr. Holden loved it. “Exactly!”

MG finished the rest of the fence line and then made sure to ask Mr. Holden the same thing as he trimmed the side shrubs. Hope, who usually spent the Holden job creating new and intricate curses in her head, was impressed when MG’s smile didn’t drop the whole time they were there.

“Damn, MG,” Hope said as they were pulling away from the curb, Mr. Holden’s ‘excellent job’ still ringing in her ears. “Mr. Holden’s never given a single compliment the entire time I’ve done his yard.”

MG just chuckled. “Yeah, I have a lot of experience dealing with little-dicked assholes.”

Hope had to hit the brakes to keep from swerving into a car parked on the side of the street, she was laughing so hard.

“Oh my god,” she wheezed. “That is exactly his problem isn't it?”

“Definitely,” MG grinned and hooked his phone up to the aux.

They didn’t run in the same circles at school, but Hope found that didn’t matter on the job. There wasn't a whole lot of room for awkwardness on hot days and long drives. Plus, it was hard not to get comfortable with someone who sees you a sweaty, grassy mess three to six days a week, depending on the workload.

So Freya kept sticking them together on the schedule, partially because they always got good customer reviews (Mr. Holden being one such customer), but also because Freya was desperate for Hope to make friends. Hope, for her part, was just pleased that unlike Sebastian, MG was more than cool to be _just_ friends. 

Hope kept the snow cone tradition alive, with the occasional slurpee thrown in for variety. Overall, it was a pretty great set-up, Hope had to admit. 

Even still, she was surprised when MG came back to work the first summer of college. That June after Freshman year, she looked at the schedule in the office and did a double-take. Not that she was complaining. She just sort of figured he would have moved on to bigger things. Or at least something with air-conditioning. 

She’d pinned him over snow cones the first day back that summer. “Ok, this shit is basically my legacy, so I know my excuse, but what the hell are you doing back here?”

“Well, aside from the lovely and welcoming atmosphere... “ Hope just rolled her eyes. “It was either this or work the prayer-line at my gramma’s church,” MG explained.

“Say no more.”

Hope’s return was inevitable -- her last name was literally in the company name. Mikaelson Lawn & Landscape. Pretty much said it all right there. She wasn’t really joking about that legacy remark.

Freya has always made it incredibly clear Hope can go do whatever she wants, she doesn’t have to stay and grind it out with them, but there was no way in hell Hope would willingly pick another job over her family. It wasn’t a forever gig, but it was a good one for now while she was still in school. 

Plus, now that she spent most of the year away at college, she got enough of a break during term. Plenty of indoor-living for her in Boston. Maybe too much she'd found herself thinking some weeks when the rain was stubbornly refusing to turn to snow and even running from her dorm to the parking garage felt like asking for the flu.

She actually really loved the work. Not the snooty clients who looked down their noses at her or the fact that the Virginia heat all but guaranteed she’d be soaked in sweat before lunchtime rolled around, but there were some good non-family things about the job, too. 

She liked dusting her hands off at the end of each job and seeing the tangible results of her hard work in the neatly lined sidewalks and perfectly even yards. She liked the physicality of it as well. Yeah, it was sweaty, but the honest feeling of sore muscles and calluses after a hard work week was something she had learned to look forward to. Even if she did end up with some funky tan lines.

xxxx

As her fifth official summer with mowing geared up and she and MG lobbed insults, gathered their equipment, and bickered over which music to play in the truck, Hope had zero complaints. About the work or the company. 

Ok, as MG started their day listening to the Imperial March just to fuck with her, she might have _one_ complaint. 

xxxx

“So, where we going next?” Hope asked halfway through the workday as she and MG slid into the company truck. She opened MG’s water and passed it to him first as he checked the log. It was only the second day back and already they’re back in their groove like no time has passed.

“Thanks,” he said, gulping half of it down. “Looks like we got the Saltzman house. Standard front and back.” 

“Saltzman…” Hope cranked the aircon as MG typed in the address into the GPS. She tried to put a face or at least a yard to the name and failed. “I don’t remember them. They new?”

“For us specifically? Yes. For us as a company? Apparently not. Looks like they’ve been a client since the fall, I guess right after you and I left,” he tossed the binder back onto the dashboard and leaned back in his seat. “Now do you want me to pick the next song or you?”

A song a piece later, found them pulling up to the Saltzman house. Hope looked over the stone walkway bisecting the front yard, the Bermuda making a good go even in the shade of the big oak tree that dominated the right half. It was a beautiful yard, but yeah, it didn’t ring any bells.

She put the car in park and eyed the metal fence around the side of the house. “What does the sheet say about the gate?” 

“‘Locked. Ask owner for entry,’” MG read.

“Got it. What’s the owner’s name?”

He scanned the page, his eyebrows crinkling when he got to the info. “Ay-lay-rick?” He looked up at Hope. “What kind of a name is that?”

“I don’t know, _Milton_ , but judging by the Benz in the driveway, I’d say moneyed.”

“Rock, paper, scissors for who does front?” MG asked as they unlocked the tailgate of the trailer. 

“Deal.” 

They tied the first two before MG’s paper smothered Hope’s rock. 

“Brain over brawn every damn time,” he gloated over Hope’s groans.

“Fine. You’ll have no problem using that brain of yours to go speak with your new pal Aylayrick about the gate, then.” 

She made a big production of turning away from him to unlock the trailer and unload the mowers. Waiting until her coworker was halfway up the porch stairs, she called out to him, “MG!”

He spun on the stairs, one food hanging in the air. “What?”

“Your fly’s undone.”

“What?!” He dropped his hands and looked down to see… His fly securely done up. “Ha ha ha. Wow, what a good one,” he droned and turned back to the door to knock.

Cackling, Hope went back to tossing back the tarp and wheeling out the lawnmowers. 

She assumed the reason MG’s voice came out higher than usual when he introduces himself and asked for this Ay-lay-rick guy is that he was still flustered from her little joke. But then she heard, “It’s Alaric, and you’re not the usual yard guy.”

“Um…”

“Where is our usual guy?” Hope looked up to see a blonde girl about their age peering around MG as if maybe he was hiding the ‘usual yard guy’ behind his small frame. “Y’know, tall, dark and made of muscle?” The blonde explained rather loudly.

“I think she means Raf,” Hope called from the sidewalk, laughing at MG’s clueless stuttering. 

“Yes!” The blonde squealed. “Why isn’t he here?”

“He’s. Uh.” 

MG was still stalling out like a stick shift with a bad transmission, so Hope dropped and abandoned the gear and saved her friend. 

“He’s home for the summer,” she told the blonde, coming to stand next to MG to make sure he wasn’t actually choking on his tongue as it sounded like. “He only works for us while he’s here for school.” 

The blonde’s eyebrows fell. “Well, that’s unfortunate.” 

Hope and MG had clearly been dismissed, but Hope still needed to get into the back yard. Plus, she was thoroughly enjoying the puddle of nerves that MG had transformed into. So the three of them just stood there in awkward silence. She let him twist in the wind a second longer before opening her mouth to ask about the side gate when another girl joined them.

“Lizzie, will you please stop wasting their time?” The girl came to stand next to the blonde -- Lizzie. The new girl looked to be the same age, but she’s brunette and honestly looked nothing like the first girl aside from them both being surprisingly tall. 

At least, that was what Hope would decide later, once she had regained control of her thought processes again. For now, all she could think was: _wow_.

Thankfully, the two girls inside the house seemed unaware of the collective brain death occurring on their doormat. They bickered like two sisters, which Hope belatedly realized they probably were. 

The brunette steered the blonde out of the doorway. “They don’t care about your obsession with their coworker, they just care about getting their job done and moving on.”

Which was sort of true. Or it had been, at least up until about sixty seconds ago. Now, both employees of Mikaelson Lawn & Landscape were quickly rearranging their priorities the longer they stood in the presence of the Saltzman sisters. 

The brunette looked up at the two workers standing blankly on her doormat. Hope thrilled when she settled her gaze firmly on Hope. Had that been a double-take? 

Didn’t matter. Because _wow_ a second time. Her eyes were so big and brown. 

“Gate?” She asked Hope.

“Please,” Hope somehow managed, returning the smile. She’d forgotten for a second exactly why they were even standing there. As if being graced with this girl’s warm, sunshiney smile wasn’t reason enough to drive out here and stand in the afternoon heat. 

Hope didn’t think anyone smiled like that outside of rom-com movies.

Before she could get too caught up in said smile, Hope’s brain yanked back into gear and she in turn yanked MG back to the trailer. She didn’t even wait for the front door to close to lay into him.

“What was that?” She crowed at him like she hadn’t also been near-helplessly spellbound.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” MG said from behind his hands.

“Don’t want to or physically can't?”

“She was really pretty, ok?!” He hissed back, rubbing his hands up into his hair, thoroughly dislodging the large-brimmed straw hat he insisted on wearing.

_Yeah_ , she really really was. Not that Hope said that to him. Instead, she just grabbed her mower and chuckled the whole way to the side gate. 

The brunette was already waiting for her when she got there, hand on the gate, swinging it open for Hope. 

“Thanks,” Hope told her as she dragged the mower into the backyard and looked around to see what she was working with. “I’ll make sure to pull it closed when I’m finished.” She kept her gaze purposefully away from the girl standing next to her. A herculean task, truly.

_Eyes on the lawn, Mikaelson. Don’t be such a creep. Eyes on the--_

“No problem,” the girl said, tucking some hair behind her ear. And damn if Hope wasn’t transfixed all over again. “Would you mind letting me know when you finish so we can lock it back after you’re done?”

Hope nodded. “Yeah, of course.” 

When the girl didn’t immediately leave, just stood there, scuffing her sneaker, Hope began to feel some sympathy for MG’s earlier awkwardness. Hope cleared her throat and reached behind her for the lawnmower, but the girl was biting her plush bottom lip and it was…

It was distracting, is what it was.

Hope’s first swipe of her hand missed the handle by a mile. She shook her head and purposefully stepped back. 

“Well.. I had better hop to it. This grass isn’t going to mow itself,” Hope laughed and immediately wanted to smack herself for how lame it sounded.

The girl just smiled and nodded, thankfully, _thankfully_ releasing her bottom lip. 

Hope’s lungs felt like they were working correctly for the first time since she entered the backyard.

“Right,” the girl took her own step back toward the porch and gave Hope one more of those dazzling smiles. She disappeared inside the house, the back door closed before Hope could even look away.

Really, Hope was just glad MG didn’t get to see any of that. After the shit she just gave him, she wasn’t looking forward to opening herself up to the same from him. Karma could be a bitch sometimes. 

She took a deep breath, centered herself, then reached down to pull the cord and start the lawnmower. The engine caught, turned over, sputtered, then died.

“You have got to be kidding,” Hope groaned. Amidst all the making fun of MG for being a doof and then herself being a doof, Hope forgot to put more gas in the damn thing.

She slumped back to the trailer where the gas can was still sitting in the same spot she’d left it not five minutes before. 

Yeah. Karma could be a bitch _most_ of the time.

xxxx 

When Hope and MG finished, there was some light scuffling over who got to tell the girls goodbye. 

Hope won. Of course. 

“You know the rules,” she tutted. “I unloaded the shit, which means you gotta load it back up.” 

She ignored his grumbling and walked back up the pathway, a spring in her step. If she took a second to straighten her company-issued baseball cap and shirt before knocking, then it was only because she was a _professional_ and she wanted Mikaelson Lawn & Landscape to look _professional_. The Saltzmans may not have been new clients to the company, but they were new to her and MG. Never hurt to make a good impression. You know. For the sake of the company.

Straightening her shoulders, she knocked. Her knuckles had barely left the wood before the door swung open, revealing that smile Hope just knew was going to be the best part of her week. 

“Finished already?”

“Yep. You’re all clear to lock the gate back again.” 

“Cool. My dad is a real security nut. Locks on everything, like Lizzie and I can't get into trouble without even leaving the house. Hello, has he even heard of the Internet?” 

She was rambling a little, tucking her hair behind her ear again and giggling, but Hope truthfully only heard maybe every other word. She was still caught on the unique shape of this girl’s mouth. 

“Oh…?” Hope said and crossed her fingers it sounded more ‘tell me about it,’ less ‘I wasn't listening because I was too busy wondering what your lips would feel like against my own.’

“Yeah,” the girl nodded, leaning against the door like she has no place else she’d rather be than standing here having the world’s worst conversation with Hope, the world’s worst conversationalist. “Must be leftover from his days as a cop.”

That got Hope’s attention. Her eyes jerked up from their thorough mapping of this girl’s lips. “Your dad was a cop?”

“Yeah, back in our old town,” the girl said, waving her hand dismissively like that wasn’t a terrifying thing to state to someone in the early stages of crushing. 

Hope had dated a cop’s kid before. Two of them, actually. They’d been siblings, her exes. She hadn’t dated them at the same time, she was quick to tell anyone who even so much as looked like they were about to ask. Even still, things hadn’t ended well. For either relationship. 

“Uh, is he a cop here?” 

That would be just Hope’s luck: she crushes on this chick and her dad is coworkers with her exes’ mom. Sheriff Machado probably wouldn’t be forgetting Hope any time soon. Not after seeing...so much of her. Absolutely fantastic. 

Hope was already kissing goodbye her chances of ever kissing this girl when she answered, “Oh, no no, thankfully no. He’s the headmaster over at the Salvatore School.” She leaned forward and said conspiratorially, “Not that that was any less mortifying of a job for Lizzie and me, since we had to do our senior year with our own _dad_ as headmaster.”

“Oh.” Hope perked back up. She’d gone to that school, but that wasn’t the interesting part. “You just graduated?”

“Yep!” 

‘Beaming’ is really the only way Hope could have described the way this girl looked at her right then. She was momentarily struck dumb. Again. 

“What about you? I don’t remember seeing you around the halls...”

“Oh,” Hope shakes her head. “You wouldn’t have. MG and I graduated the year before last. We’re just home for the summer,” she added unnecessarily. 

Hope nodded along, “That’s cool.”

For a second time in the first hour of knowing one another Hope finds herself standing there, unable to move away from this girl. The conversation seems to be over or at the least has stalled out. Hope should probably leave. She doesn’t even know this girl’s name and already-- Wait. She doesn’t even know-- 

“Your name,” Hope blurted out with all the finesse of a leaf blower, startling both of them. “Uh. I mean- I didn’t catch your name earlier.” 

_Smooth, Mikaelson. Real smooth._

“It’s Josie,” the brunette -- _Josie_ \-- said. And then she stuck out her hand for Hope to shake like she was running for student council. 

“Oh.” Hope looked down at the long, delicate fingers and gulped. She held up her own grubby hand in front of her to show Josie. ( _Josie_ , she says it again in her head). “You don’t--” she laughed squeakily. “You probably don’t want to…” 

Instead of dropping her hand like she’d expected her to do, something passed over Josie’s face -- too quick for Hope to catch it. When Hope looked closer, there was a little challenge in her brown eyes. The skin just barely crinkled at the corners in defiance. 

It surprised Hope to see it flashing there. 

“I think I would know what I do and don’t want.” 

Her tone isn’t rude, but there was an undercurrent of something flinty to it that had Hope regretting her assumptions. There was clearly more to this girl than just a sunny disposition. 

“Right, yeah, of course.” She rushed to say. She quickly wiped her hand off on her shirt and took up Josie’s.

She’d been intending to give Josie a quick one-two shake like they’d taught her in her business class freshman year -- nice and quick and professional and hopefully minimally grime-transferring -- but Josie seemed to again have other ideas. She took Josie’s hand firmly, shook it, and then didn’t let go. 

Hope felt every bead of sweat on her body acutely and Josie’s smile just grew the longer they stood there like that. 

“What?” Hope croaked when the other girl giggled. 

“Usually, when you do this sort of thing, you give the other person your name, too.”

“Oh.” 

Cue a quick pause for Hope to kick herself. 

She looked down at her grass-stained vans and addressed her next question to them. “I don’t suppose this doormat doubles as an entrance to another dimension, does it?” 

Another quick pause for Hope to kick herself once more (with feeling), because oh my god she’d only been back in MG’s presence for like 48 hours and already the boy’s nerdy lines were rubbing off on her. 

‘What the fuck,’ she mouthed to her shoes.

Josie, for her part, just laughed. 

She still hadn’t let go of Hope’s hand. Because Hope still hadn’t introduced herself. 

All of that and still not delivering. Jesus Christ. So much for professionalism.

“I’m Hope,” she finally managed to say in the midst of all of the silent (but no less fervent) wishes for death. 

“Nice to meet you, Hope,” Josie said sweetly.

“Likewise,” was Hope’s riveting reply.

There was just something about this girl that just made Hope feel like the pre-pubescent ding-dong she used to be. 

_Used to be_ several _years ago, damnit._

May there had been something in the pollen of one of the Saltzman’s trees. Something to explain what the heck was happening to Hope. She wasn’t usually so… So _MG_ about this kind of thing. 

She has talked to plenty of pretty girls and boys. Talked to them _well_ , even! (How else would she have managed to date not one, but both Machado siblings?)

She shook herself. She needed to say something smooth enough to rescue herself from this situation. Or say anything, actually.

But then the blonde popped back into the entryway and reminded Hope there were in fact other people in the world at the moment.

If Hope thought Josie’s eye had a spark earlier, the smile on the blonde’s face was pure deviltry as she said in a cloying voice, “Josie, dear sister, what was that you were saying earlier about letting these nice people do their job and move on?”

Josie rolled her eyes and dropped Hope’s hand, effectively severing whatever spell had come over Hope. 

“Of course,” Josie said, eyes swinging down to her feet. When Josie looked back up at Hope she was biting her lip again, which meant it was back to Zero Thoughts, Head Empty status for Hope. 

Bless her heart. She didn’t even stand a chance.

Thankfully, MG seemed to have gotten over his initial nerves, because suddenly Hope felt his hand on her shoulder. She hadn’t even heard him finish loading the trailer, let alone walk up to them.

“Sorry, ladies,” he grinned, all easy charm and confidence now that he wasn’t the one on the chopping block of awkward. “You’d think college would have taught her some social skills or something, but alas,” he laughed. “I’m MG by the way.” 

“Didn’t ask. Definitely don't care,” Lizzie said flatly, walking away and ignoring MG’s outstretched hand. Hope had to smother a laugh. 

Josie seamlessly stepped back in and shook MG’s hand. “Josie,” she said. The transition too smooth for it to be the first time she had to step in and cover her sister’s rudeness. 

Hope was strangely pleased to see Josie only holds MG's hand for a much more respectable short handshake.

MG said goodbye for the both of them and tugged her down the stairs. Short handshake or not, Hope kind of hated him for pulling her away so soon. Maybe she wanted to say goodbye to Josie. Or not say goodbye. Just continue standing there, basking in her presence for the rest of the afternoon. Either or. Hope was flexible like that.

Clearly Lizzie’s dismissal did nothing to dampen his enjoyment of his payback. He kept his arm around her shoulders the whole way back to the truck, like she was some sort of invalid who needed to be physically helped to the car. For a moment, Hope wondered if she could get away with tripping him or if that would just bring her down, too.

Putting a pin in her plans for revenge, she covertly looked back over her shoulder and saw Josie still leaning against the door jamb watching the two walk to their truck. Josie waved those same fingers Hope was just holding and ya know, maybe it was a good thing MG was holding onto her, sweaty boy skin and all.

MG, of course, dragged her away from her thoughts of those fingers and back to the moment. Which was good because she needed to remember how to drive.

“What was that?” He crowed, throwing her words from forty-five minutes ago right back in her face.

“Shut up.” She shook his arm off and stalked around to the driver-side door.

“Aww, whatsamatter, Mikaelson? You can dish it, but you can’t take it?”

“What I can do is drive away and leave your ass to walk to our next job site,” Hope bit back as she jumped into her seat and slammed the door.

MG held his hands up in surrender, but still somehow managed to get his door open before Hope could hit the door lock and lock him out. 

Ugh. Sometimes his reflexes were just too fast to be human. 

He jumped in the car laughing and already reaching for the aux cord. It was his turn to pick a song but Hope thought seriously about invoking her driver status to deny him the privilege. 

She decided that it’d be in her best interest to let him distract himself with deejaying. Maybe then he wouldn’t mention whatever the hell he’d just witnessed back there.

xxxx

That evening in the waning light of the sunset, MG leaned back against the side of the truck and said, “I think I’m gonna like Tuesdays.”

“Yeah,” Hope breathed out next to him, remembering the way Josie's hand had felt in her own and the shape of her lips as she'd smiled goodbye. “I think I will, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this'll probably have about four to six chapters depending on how I decide to break it apart. i've got about 75% written at this point.
> 
> drop your best yard/grass puns in the comments -- you know Hope and MG are gonna need them to woo these Saltzman girls


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *insert some allusion to running over a rock while mowing*

The next week, Hope knocked on the door while MG wrestled the mower out of the trailer. After Lizzie’s less than enthusiastic response to the boy last week, Hope had managed to convince him to let her do the honors. Plus, it was his turn to wrangle the gear. 

That’s all. Just a desire for customer satisfaction and work-place equality. Nothing more. Nothing… Personal. 

Had Hope spent the last seven days reliving the last time she was on this property? Specifically, the times she was in the presence of one of the Saltzman daughters? ( _Josie, Josie, Josie_ , her brain happily repeated for her.) 

Well, yes. But that was completely irrelevant to the decision-making process that lead to Hope being the one to get facetime with _the clients._

Not that that was what she was getting right now. Because it has been upwards of twenty seconds and there was still no answer from inside the house.

Hope looked at the driveway -- two cars, so _someone_ was home -- and knocked again. 

Just as Hope was gearing herself up for a letdown (not about not seeing Josie of course, but at the fact that they’d have to only halfway do the job and obviously that wouldn’t be good for customer satisfaction) Josie flung open the door. Flushed and disheveled, shirt twisted sideways. 

Hope instinctively took a step back.

“Hey,” Josie said, out of breath like she had just sprinted to answer the door. 

Which was weird, given how long the delay was between Hope’s last knock and Josie opening the door right now. Hope didn't think the house was big enough for it to take more than a minute to walk to the front door. But whatever. What did she know?

“Hey,” Hope said, trying not to get too distracted by the flush painting Josie’s cheeks and collarbones. 

Collarbones that were heaving and-- Wait, was Josie not wearing a bra?

“Uh,” Hope cleared her throat and nailed her eyes to the wood of the door that Josie was keeping conspicuously half-closed. “Sorry, but do you think you could unlock the side gate?”

“What?” Josie was trying to brush her hair flat with one hand which really was only drawing more attention to what was going on up there. Maybe Hope had interrupted a nap. Maybe that was why Josie looked so...mussed. “Oh, yes, yes of course. Uh.” Pause. “Hold on.” 

She closed the door in Hope’s face.

“Well ok, then,” Hope muttered under her breath. So much for Josie being the friendly Saltzman.

When Josie opened the gate, Hope just gave her a tight smile and got down to work. 

Hope was leaning over to start the mower when another girl walked out onto the back porch. Bobbed dark hair looking similarly mussed. She definitely was not here last week. That would explain the second car, a shiny Lexus, parked out front. 

“Babe, where’d you--” Her tone changed when her eyes landed on Hope, still bent over the lawnmower. “Oh.”

Which was enough for Hope who was all too familiar with that tone of voice. She has heard it plenty over the years mowing in the upscale neighborhoods.

“I’m coming,” Josie said, turning from Hope to go back to this, this...

“Not if you’re gonna keep flirting with _the help_ you aren’t.”

This _bitch_.

Hope stood up sharply. She had to clench her jaw to keep from saying something less than customer-service-oriented. She was still on the job, representing Mikaelson Lawn & Landscape, representing her _family_. Freya had had a talk with her about this very thing the first time she rode out on a truck. Sometimes people were just assholes. Their money paid the bills just the same.

Hope ground her teeth and clenched her fist tight around the lawnmower's handle.

“Penelope!” Josie exclaimed, clearly embarrassed. She grabbed the other girl’s arm, bit out a low “ _not okay_ ,” and dragged her inside.

xxxx

Hope had never, in all her years with ML&L, mowed a yard faster than she mowed the backyard that day. She slammed the gate closed as she left — loud enough to let Josie and her guest know that _‘the help’_ had finished in the backyard — and had MG’s cuttings bagged up almost before he even finished mowing.

MG barely got the weed eater into the back and the tarp secured over the top before she peeled out of there.

“Woah, where’s the fire?” he asked, quickly buckling his seatbelt.

Hope didn’t look away from the street in front of her. “Nowhere. Just ready to get these jobs done today.”

xxxx

That evening, Hope tore savagely into her snowcone -- she’d earned one, damnit -- and unequivocally declared Tuesdays to be the worst day of the week. 

MG was a man wise beyond his young years and knew better than to contradict a woman in a mood like this one. He eyed the way his partner was digging into her flavored hunk of ice and decided he’d rather not be on the business end of Hope’s spork plastic or not.

Rather than respond, he promptly stuffed a too-large bite of his grape snow cone in his mouth. All he said to her was an emphatic _“_ _hhhhh"_ when his brain freeze triggered.

xxxx

When she knocked on the Saltzman door the third week, Hope already had her patented bitch face in place. MG had offered to get the gate open, and indeed it was Hope’s turn to unload the equipment, but Hope had declined. 

Mikaelsons did not back down. If she couldn’t talk back and share her thoughts verbally, she would at the least show she wasn’t cowed. 

Definitely not by some spoiled richbitch. _Ugh_. 

It wasn’t even the worst thing a client had said to her before. But something about the encounter had twisted Hope’s gut. 

On the walk up to the door, she mentally prepared herself for whatever uncomfortableness she might face this time. With any luck, perhaps Josie’s charming girlfriend would say something outrageously rude enough to warrant Hope accidentally weed-eating her car. She didn't see the Lexus at the moment, but it could be here when they left.

Hope had always thought it was important to have dreams.

Before she could dream some more, the door swung open to reveal Josie. Her shirt was on correctly this week. How nice. 

“Hey! Hope! You came back.”

“Uh, yeah?” Hope replied in a monotone. “Sorta my job as ‘the help’ and all.” 

“Hope…” Josie bit her lip and Hope felt her resolve to remain blank nearly crack as her eyes swung down of their own accord to take in the movement. 

Hope shook herself. _No_. No more looking at Josie’s lips. Not after finding out, they’ve been touching someone as rude and-- 

“I’m sorry about last week,” Josie said quietly. “Penelope was…”

“It’s fine,” Hope cut her off. The last thing she needed was an excuse about how Josie’s _Penelope_ was really actually quite wonderful under all of that dickishness. The thought of Josie defending the other girl had Hope's jaw clenching even tighter. “You were busy. Sorry for interrupting. Can you please unlock the gate? Then I’ll be out of your hair.”

Josie looked like she wanted to say more, but something in Hope’s face must have suggested she do otherwise. She sighed, “Yeah, come on.” Resigned, she gestured to Hope to follow her through the house rather than just wait at the gate like she did the other two times. 

Hope wasn’t sure how to take this change in routine. She paused on the threshold for a beat.

There weren't specific rules about it, but Hope had never been inside the house of any of her other jobs. Not even Mrs. Jefferson, who made Hope and MG lemonade on hot afternoons when they did her yard. They'd always sipped the iced glasses out on the front porch, Mrs. Jefferson on the rocking chair telling them about her grandkids who were about Hope and MG's age. 

But Josie was walking away and Hope didn't want to lose her. She stepped inside, shivered in the cool airconditioning, and shut the front door quietly. She was extra careful not to track any grime through the house as she followed behind the brunette. She may be annoyed with Penelope and by extension, Josie, but this was still a client's house. 

She was also extra careful to look for any signs of Penelope lurking anywhere. Sure, her car was gone from out front, but there were other methods of travel. Hope looked for any smoking black candles or pentagrams on the floor... 

“You know, you guys could just leave a key under a rock or something; that way we wouldn’t have to bother y’all every time we need to get into the back yard.”

“Oh…” Josie looked over her shoulder as she pulled the sliding door open and stepped out onto the back porch. “It’s no bother. Really.”

“Your girlfriend seemed to think it was,” Hope muttered.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Josie said dejectedly. “Not really. Not anymore.” She shook her head and opened the gate. “Regardless, I’m sorry for what she said. It was rude and uncalled for.” 

She reached out a hand and almost touched Hope’s arm. But at the last minute, she redirected, ran it through her hair instead. 

“It’s fine,” Hope said, voice marginally less tense than it was the first time she said it. 

Josie didn’t owe her anything, and she certainly didn’t need to apologize for other people. No matter how nice it may have felt for Hope to hear just now. 

“Really,” she looked Josie in the eye. “I’ll knock when we finish, ‘kay?”

And Hope kinda hoped that would be that. She and Josie could squash the weirdness and Hope could go back to just mowing this girl’s yard and not caring about who Josie did or did not decide to hook up with in the privacy of her own home. It’d be exactly like it was with every other homeowner she mowed for. Simple. Easy. Professional. Fewer prissy sort-of-maybe-not-girlfriends to deal with that way.

But then, Josie smiled tentatively and said, “okay,” and Hope found herself mirroring the smile without even thinking. 

Damn.

She was so fucked.

xxxx

When Hope knocked on the door forty-five minutes later, Josie handed her a paper plate of apology cookies and Hope realized she was going to have to scrap that simple-easy-professional plan she had set her mind on earlier.

MG inhaled three cookies before they even made it their next yard. He was more than willing to accept any and all baked apologies on Hope’s behalf. So much for solidarity. 

“You should have people be assholes to you more often,” he told her around a cookie, crumbs spewing everywhere. “This really pays off!”

She just shook her head and snagged one for herself -- peanut butter chocolate chip: her favorite. Goddamnit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> will i ever decide definitively if weed-eater is or is not hyphenated? probably not


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this morning's update was short and i don't understand the first thing about delayed gratification, so here's another chapter on the house

It was Lizzie who answered the door the next time Hope and MG came by. Hope had honestly kind of forgotten the blonde Saltzman even existed, so when she opened the door and leaned out of the house and into Hope's personal space unabashedly, Hope took a step back in surprise.

“Where’s MG?” Lizzie asked by way of greeting. 

“Uh, he’s filling up the lawnmower,” Hope threw a thumb behind her to gesture at the trailer. “Oh, ok then, don’t mind me,” she laughed as Lizzie maneuvered around her, heading straight for MG before Hope had even finished her first sentence. 

Hope turned and watched as the blonde cornered MG and immediately launched into some sort of heated discussion about… comic books…? “Huh.”

“Sorry about her,” Josie said from the doorway behind her.

Hope looked back and shot her a small smile before turning back to the argument(?) happening at the curb. “Since when do they talk?”

Rolling her eyes, Josie came to stand beside Hope. “Since he wore that Green Lantern bandana on his hat last week. Lizzie marched out there and gave him hell for… Honestly, I have no idea. I usually tune her out when she talks about all of that stuff.”

“Funny. I do the same thing with MG.”

Grinning, they both watched the pair for a beat longer before Josie cleared her throat. “So, uh…” Josie hedged awkwardly. “Just to clarify: you two aren’t like… A Thing, are you?”

“MG and I? Oh my god,” Hope snorted. “No. Definitely not.”

“Cool,” Josie nodded nonchalantly. “Just checking. For Lizzie, of course!”

The add-on came quickly enough Hope couldn't even get her hopes up. Which was best. No, not _best_. That implied there were multiple options. It was the _only_ option. 

Josie was strictly off-limits. Hope had never dated a client before. Let alone one who was still semi-attached (how else would you describe what Hope had clearly interrupted two weeks ago). 

Nope, best to keep it professional. 

Out by the trailer, Lizzie gestured wildly with her arm. MG took a quick step back, careful to keep the weedeater between him and the blonde.

Hope chuckled quietly. She’d let MG decide for himself on the dating-clients front. If he wanted to pursue a relationship with the woman currently castigating him (judging by the soft smile on his face, he very much probably did) then she wished him luck. 

Josie leaned over when Lizzie flailed again, sending MG another step back. “Think we should save him?” She asked conversationally. 

“Are you kidding me?” Hope replied. “This’ll be the highlight of his week. Even if she does land a hit on him.” 

Hope was rewarded with a giggle from Josie. The lovely sound filled her chest up with what may as well have been helium, she felt so light. She had to fight to rein it back in in order to keep from floating away. 

She cleared her throat and turned back to Josie. “So. Backyard?” 

“Yeah, of course.”

xxxx

Hope cut off the lawnmower and started picking up the sycamore bark around the trunk of the old tree in the far corner of the yard. She was just about to grab the weedeater to edge up along the roots, when Josie appeared at her side, an ice-cold water bottle in her hand. 

“Oh,” Hope startled. 

“You looked hot,” Josie said, sliver of a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“Thank- thank you?”

Josie smiled. She leaned down and snagged one of the sycamore’s leaves and twirled the stem between her fingers. The emerald green of the top and the muted white-green of the underside flashing in the shade as the leaf spun. 

Hope watched spellbound, water bottle halfway to her mouth. “These sycamore leaves are my favorite,” she heard herself say.

Josie looked up. “Is that what type of tree this is?”

“Yeah. You can tell because of the way the bark shears off in thin sheaves.” Hope held up some of the bark still in her hand for Josie to see.

Josie stepped closer to inspect. “That’s supposed to happen?” 

Hope shrugged. “It’s just what they do. You can also tell a sycamore by its leaves, too.” She reached out a finger and ran it along the fuzzy side of the large leaf in Josie’s hand. “See how the underside is soft like this?”

Josie ran her fingers over the path Hope’s had just traced. “Almost like velvet,” she noted wonderingly.

Hope felt just as wonder-filled watching Josie’s fingers smooth softly over the leaf. Her touch looked almost reverent. 

Josie looked up and Hope quickly chugged some water in an attempt to avoid being caught staring. Her eyes skittered and landed on two trees on the far side of the yard. 

“Those hickories would be perfect for a hammock,” Hope said abruptly. She needed to say something to dispel the tension she felt pulling her closer to the taller girl in front of her. 

(Something other than how she wanted to feel Josie’s fingers on her skin, touching her like that.) 

Josie raised an eyebrow but swung her eyes over to where Hope was looking. “A hammock, huh?”

Hope had originally just said it to distract the other girl, but now that she looked closer, they actually would be perfect. The trees were close enough, offering plenty of shade, and the bark of the hickory, unlike the sycamore they’re currently standing under, would be tough enough to not be damaged too badly by a pair of straps or screws.

But she’d already gone full plant-nut (Uncle Elijah would be pleased with that unintentional pun) on Josie about the sycamore tree, so she kept all of these explanations to herself and merely nodded. “Yeah.”

Josie turned away from the trees and smiled soft and vibrant as that damn sycamore leaf at Hope. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

xxxx

When they got in the truck afterward, Hope was so distracted by the memory of Josie’s eyes and hands and smile, she didn’t even complain when MG deejayed the whole way to the next yard. 

When he pointed this fact out as they were unloading at the Baumbach's, she was quick to say defensively, “Samm Henshaw is good, why would I mind listening to him? I only complain about your deejaying when you insist on playing nothing but movie scores.”

“Noted. However, we weren’t listening to Samm Henshaw.”

She stopped. She could have sworn she'd heard the line from "Broke" about getting sacked from Five Guys... But she hadn't honestly been paying attention. She'd been so caught up in- In thinking about _the last job_ , she quickly supplied before her brain could offer anything else.

She looked at MG. He was staring at her blankly. Never a good sign. She’d been caught.

MG hadn’t even been in the backyard, but she could just _tell_ he knew something had happened between her and Josie. Not that anything had happened! Just… Ugh. Why was this so difficult.

MG studied her for a long moment then burst out laughing. “I’m just playing. That was Samm, yeah.”

It took all of Hope’s resolve not to drop the gas can on his foot.

xxxx

When Hope saw Josie next, she was not on the clock and Josie was not at her house.

Hope had just exited the coffee shop over on East Main when she looked up and saw the Saltzman sisters. It was a shock, to say the least. The line from Mean Girls about seeing teachers outside of school flashed quickly through her brain.

Sadly, Hope’s brain could remember Janis's line about dogs walking on their hind legs perfectly, but could not remember what she'd been doing (walking on her regular human legs) when she'd looked up to see the two girls hopping out of their car and heading towards her. Consequently, Hope nearly smacked into a newspaper dispenser.

“Jesus,” she said, swerving around the metal box on the sidewalk and almost tripping off the curb in the process. She only narrowly avoided spilling the iced coffees she was carrying. "Christ."

She must have said it pretty loudly. Or maybe her flailing was a bit more dramatic than she intended. Either way, Josie looked up from her phone and straight at Hope.

“Hope,” Josie said, her surprise obvious, though decidedly less slapstick than Hope's. How lucky.

Josie was wearing a blue twill romper, her long tan legs on display in the shorts, and as Josie walked toward her, Hope was suddenly very aware of her own outfit. It was a day off so she was wearing comfy clothes. Yoga pants, berks, and a ratty oversized t-shirt she was 85% sure she did not buy herself but rather probably stole from an ex. 

Though, she supposed, at least she wasn’t grass-stained and/or smelling of sweat. Which was how she usually met Josie. So that was a bonus. 

Her thoughts on her own appearance didn’t last long. Josie’s legs looked _really_ nice in the bright sunlight and soon demanded all of Hope's attention. All evenly tanned and smooth and nary a bug bite in sight. Hope could claim none of these things about her own legs, which made her appreciate Josie’s all the more.

Her brain fizzled out shortly thereafter. Hope was young and single and there was only so much gorgeous skin her brain could handle! Self-conscious idlings didn't stand a chance when confronted with one Josie Middle-Name-Unknown Saltzman. Perhaps that was another bonus.

One _non-_ bonus, however? Hope couldn't remember if she had said anything yet. 

Josie for her part was still just standing there looking like she’d just stepped off the page of some airbrushed teen clothing magazine. She continued beaming at Hope. Which Hope decided to take as a cue. “Josie. Hi?”

_Ah, yes, good. Greet her like you aren’t sure if you’re happy to see her. Very good idea, Mikaelson._

Perhaps her body had been onto something a moment ago nearly laying herself down into traffic like that.

“Hey.” Josie tilted her smile down at the coffee carrier in Hope’s hand, “That’s a lot of coffee for one person.”

“It’s not!” Hope replied far too quickly and far too loudly for a normal conversation. She backpedaled, “For one person that is. One is for me and one is, uh, not for me.” 

Josie's face clouded. “Oh.” 

“My aunt! The other coffee is for my aunt.”

“ _Oh_ _?"_ The smile was back on Josie’s face now. 

“Yeah, she’s catching up on some end of the month spreadsheets. So,” Hope lifted the coffee carrier. “I offered to bring her some coffee.”

“How sweet,” Lizzie drawled, sarcasm bright and blinking like a broadway billboard, before walking into the shop behind Hope. 

Oh, that’s right. 

Lizzie _had_ been standing there. Right next to Josie. Hope had kind of forgotten the minor detail of the blonde's presence when her mouth took up its leaf-blower impersonation and just loudly shotgunned words out willy nilly. 

Oops.

“Find me when you’re done making googly eyes at each other,” Lizzie called over her shoulder to Josie before the door swung shut. Josie merely rolled her eyes.

“That is actually pretty sweet,” she said to Hope as she tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. Hope didn’t think she’d seen anything cuter than when Josie did that.

To cover up her swooning, she chuckled and, hoping she'd nail the correct conversational pitch and cadence this time, she said, “It’s considerably less sweet when you factor in that I got to put it on the company credit card.”

There. That wasn’t so hard. Just making conversation with a pretty girl. That's all. 

But then Josie laughed, sweet and clear and yep, Hope was definitely swooning. 

Josie leaned in and whispered, “I’m sure that was only half of the reason you offered, though, right?”

“Oh, yeah,” Hope leaned in too and matched the confidential tone. “Other half is that I also wanted coffee.”

Another laugh. Hope took it in greedily. Already desperate for more. Was this what it felt like to develop an addiction?

“So your aunt’s company trusts her niece with a company credit card?”

“Well, after the truck and high-dollar heavy machinery, a credit card is pretty small potatoes.”

Josie gave her a puzzled look. 

“Mikaelson Lawn & Landscape,” Hope supplied. “My aunts I, we are, dun dun dun, the Mikaelsons.”

“Oh, no way!” 

“What did you think I was the ‘Lawn’ or the ‘Landscape’?”

“No, you ass,” Josie shoved Hope goodnaturedly. “I just didn’t think it was a family business and that _you_ were part of the family.”

“Yeah, thankfully nepotism isn’t really a concern when it comes to lawn care.”

Hope had settled into the conversation, by now. The way Josie was smiling made the quips come surprisingly easy given Hope’s recent conversation performance in the taller girl’s presence. Hope found herself not wanting it to end. She wanted to see just how many more smiles she could pull from the other girl. 

Which was of course when Lizzie shellacked herself to the inside of the windowpane next to them.

Josie covered her eyes in embarrassment as Lizzie continued to mime dying of what one could only imagine was caffeine withdrawal. Hope found herself laughing at the interruption, despite how unwelcome it was. Lizzie was _really_ giving the performance her all in there.

“Well, I guess I had better let you get back to,” she pointed an eyebrow in the blonde’s direction, “that.”

“Yes,” Josie said drolly. “What a shame it would be for her to meet such a tragic end. And so soon. Perhaps _very_ soon hopefully.”

Hope grinned. “If you won’t do it for her, at least do it for the couple whose date she’s interrupting.”

Josie looked back to the window. Lizzie was indeed leaning over a table to get to the part of the window directly beside her and Hope and there were indeed two thirty-somethings sitting at said Lizzie-draped table. 

“Fine,” Josie sighed long and drawn out as if she had been cajoled into agreeing to face down a sharp-toothed nightmare monster, not her own melodramatic sister. 

Hope put her free hand on Josie’s arm and solemnly said, “I’ll make sure they remember you and your selflessness in the folk songs they write about this day.”

“Thanks,” Josie grinned. “I’ll see you Tuesday?”

Hope nodded and smiled right back. “Tuesday.”

xxxx

Freya’s iced americano with an extra shot was closer to a room-temperature americano with an extra shot by the time that Hope made it back to the ML&L office. 

“Sorry, long line,” Hope said quickly sliding the sweaty drink across Freya’s desk and already backing slowly away from the desk.

Freya eyed the cup then her niece. Her critical stare no less intimidating through the computer glasses perched on her nose. 

Finally, she said. “If there was a long line, how would that affect the ice in the coffee you only could have ordered and that they thus would not have started making until after you got to the front of aforementioned line?”

Hope continued backing toward the door with slightly more urgency now. “There was a long line to get to the made-drinks too?”

“Uh-huh,” Freya took a long drag from the drink and turned back to the desktop in front of her. “You’re lucky, dear niece, that Keelin loves you and is in charge of dinner tonight. If it was my night you’d be sent to bed hungry.” She shot Hope a well-known and oft-feared look over the top of her drink. “No one messes with my coffee, Mikaelson. You know this.”

“I know this,” Hope grimaced. She fled the room.

Moments later, she reentered with a fresh cup of ice from the company fridge. 

“I'm sorry? I love you? Please forgive me?” Hope said as she carefully placed the ice on Freya's desk like an offering to an ancient and powerful and definitely deadly being. 

Freya pursed her lips then dumped the ice in her drink. “You're going to make someone very happy one of these days. Now get out of my office, short stack. Keelin is ordering pizza and I'm almost done here. Oh and Hope?"

Hope paused halfway out the door. "Yes?"

"I love you."

"I love you, too," Hope repeated suspiciously.

"But mess with my caffeine again and you can find yourself a new family and job."

Hope saluted. She honestly expected nothing less.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Samm Henshaw is really good, y'all


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *bernie sanders voice* i am once again changing the chapter count mid-story

“You put up a hammock,” Hope said the next week when she knocked on the door to let Josie know she had finished out back.

“I did,” Josie beamed.

“It looks good,” Hope said and meant it.

It had been a shock to look up from the mower and see a hammock strung exactly where Hope had suggested the week before. She hadn’t expected Josie to go out and get one immediately, but it did look nice, Hope had to admit. She wouldn’t mind spending a lazy few hours swaying in it herself. Especially not if Josie was in it with her...

“Thanks.” Josie’s smile turned considerably more self-satisfied. “I had a professional consult and everything.”

Hope grinned the whole way to the next yard.

xxxx

MG waited until the tarp on the trailer was tied off and the air conditioner in the truck cab was blasting full tilt before he dropped the bomb in Hope’s lap.

“I invited Lizzie and Josie to get snow cones with us after work today,” he said right before guzzling his water bottle.

Hope paused, her own water almost to her lips. “You did what, now?”

“Lizzie and Josie,” he said, slower this time. “I invited them to hit up Snow Place Like Home with us today.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Hope could see MG watching her very closely. Like she was a bear he had just poked with a sharp stick.

Why was he looking at her like that? Hope knew why it was a big deal to her to get snow cones with Josie, but she didn’t think _MG_ knew that. She thought she'd been pretty careful to keep her... She thought she'd been careful to keep _things_ under wraps.

Determined not to concede any more confidential information to MG who would no doubt lord it over her for the rest of the summer, Hope consciously relaxed her shoulders and took a drink. “Okay,” she said casually. “What time we meeting them?” 

Maybe she’d have time to run home and shower so she wouldn’t look-slash-smell like one of Mystic Fall High’s football team’s tackle dummies. That’d be nice. 

“I told Lizzie I’d text her when we wrapped up the James’s yard.”

Hope kissed her sweat-free dream goodbye. As she pulled up to a four-way stop and waited her turn, something else hit her. “Wait, did you say ‘text her’?”

“Yes…” MG replied. “Are you… unfamiliar with the concept…?”

Hope rolled her eyes and ignored his purposefully obtuse question. “Since when do you have Lizzie Saltzman’s number?”

MG shifted in his seat. “I dunno. Since a couple of weeks ago? We went to the comic shop to pick up the new issue of The Old Guard, and, yeah...” Based on his doofy smile and dreamy tone, he must have lapsed into the memory of the outing.

Hope raised her eyebrows. “Oh my god.” 

“What?” MG looked around sharply.

She flicked on her turn signal and maneuvered into the turn off for the James’ neighborhood before side-eyeing MG with a smirk. “You two are totally a thing, aren’t you?” 

She already knew his answer would be defensive before he even opened his mouth -- his shoulders (up to his ears) and his hands (pinwheeling in front of him) said it all. “What? No, no, no,” he said, quickly shaking his head. “We’re just friends.”

“Bullshit," she said simply. When he opened his mouth to protest further, she cut him off. "You and I are just friends, Milton. You want to _date_ her!”

Her smirk stretched wickedly across her face now. If MG wasn’t careful, another minute of this and she would start singing Sandra Bullock's song from Miss Congeniality.

MG crossed his arms and looked out the passenger window at the houses. “I mean,” he pouted at the passing mailboxes. “I wouldn’t be opposed to dating her if she were interested.” His coyness was short-lived; even the hypothetical sentence was enough to make him smile.

Hope whapped him on the arm with a triumphant laugh, “I knew it! Why didn’t you just tell me?”

MG shrugged. “We don’t really talk about that kinda stuff. You never mention who you’re dating--”

“You knew I was dating Ethan Machado last summer.”

“Um, yeah, I only knew that because _Maya_ Machado smushed a snow cone in your face while I was sitting right next to you.”

“Hmm, ok, that’s fair.”

“I dunno, I figured it was too locker-room-y, so I just…”

Hope pulled up in front of the James’ ranch-style and threw the truck in park. Unbuckling her seatbelt, she turned to face her friend in the passenger seat. 

“I don’t wanna know bases or anything remotely like that,” she said sternly. “But other than that, MG, you can talk or not talk about whatever you want.” She leaned over and put a reassuring hand on his arm. “Just know I’m going to roast the absolute shit out of you when you do.”

“Fucking hell,” MG groaned, throwing open the truck door and putting space between himself and Hope’s smug face.

She joined him on the concrete. “If we hurry, you might even have time to change into your tuxedo before your big date tonight.”

“I hope your weed-eating line breaks and you can’t pull the old one loose from the mechanism,” he said and flung off the tarp back off the trailer so it flapped loudly in her face.

“Well, that’s just rude.”

xxxx

An hour and some change later, Hope’s shirt was ringed in sweat and dirt and she regretted making fun of the tuxedo idea. Hell, _she’d_ wear a top hat and tails if it meant being able to change out of these clothes before meeting up with the Satlzmans.

“You sure you don’t wanna just go by yourself?” Hope asked MG as she hunted for a dry spot on her shirt to wipe her face with. 

MG threw her a towel and a cold water bottle from the cooler. “Oh, no, you’re not getting out of this.” He dumped some water on his face and wiped it off before fixing her with a stare over the hood of the truck. “Josie is gonna be there.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hope said as archly as she could while splashing her own face with water. Christ, that was cold.

“Exactly what I said. Now get in the truck, I already texted Lizzie.”

“Since when am I your chauffeur?” Hope asked, hand on the open driver side door.

“Since you refuse to concede the keys to the truck. Now are you done being difficult or would you like to make us even more late?”

"Ok, ok, sheesh." She hopped in the truck and turned the key. "No need to get your knickers in a twist. Thought that was gonna be Lizzie's job."

He buried his face in his hands to hide his blush. "I would never make an assumpt--"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Hope waved his chivalrous defenses aside with a hand. "You're a gentleman, I know I know, save the speech for the ladies."

She pulled out her phone and typed in a query on YouTube. Earlier, while she'd been finishing up the James' side yard, she'd thought of the perfect song to play on the way to Snow Place Like Home.

Sometimes good things came to those who were little shits to their friends. After a lifetime of being a little shit, Hope trusted in this law of the universe above all others.

MG tapped his fingers on the doorhandle impatiently. "What are you doing?"

She silenced him with one finger and with another she pressed play. Jaunty Italian guitars filled the speakers as Hope put down her phone and pulled out into the street.

"Thought I'd get you in the right frame of mind for tonight," she said. Then, right on cue, Dean Martin started singing loudly through the speakers about what happens when the moon hits your eye. 

MG stared despondently through the windshield. "I need to find a new job."

Hope ignored him and sang loudly along with the well-known chorus. 

xxxx

By the time they parked in the grass lot beside the snow cone shack, Hope careful to pull the trailer forward enough not to block any other cars from coming or going, MG had long since dropped his threats of quitting and had joined in on singing along to the love song playlist. The outro brass of Nat King Cole's "L-O-V-E" was just fading when Hope cut the engine.

“You ready, big stuff?” Hope elbowed MG before opening her door. So far, her plans to distract herself by making fun of MG were working beautifully.

Then she looked up and saw Josie (and Lizzie) reclining against a picnic table in the shade and her own nerves came roaring back to her.

“It’s just snow cones,” MG said quietly beside her.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “It can’t be worse than what happened before.”

He nodded, eyes zeroed in on where Lizzie was lounging next to Josie, her blonde hair shimmering in the shifting rays of sun shining through the swaying tree branches over their head. “Exactly.” 

He threw his shoulders back, puffed out his chest, and took a brave step forward. 

“Oh my god, I can smell you two from here,” Lizzie screeched across the parking lot. “You two are sitting downwind or else I’m leaving right now.”

“Or not,” Hope grimaced. Beside her, she heard MG gulp.

xxxx

After Josie assured MG and Hope that Lizzie was kidding -- “ _I was most definitely not!_ ” -- and MG bribed Lizzie with an extra-large snow cone so she could try five flavors instead of the regular three, tensions settled.

It actually was an enjoyable time. Even if she and MG did end up having to sit on the down-breeze side of the table. Lizzie did actually have a fair point on that one. They really did stink.

“So, Lizzie mentioned y’all are gonna be sophomores this year?” Josie asked. 

“Yep,” MG nodded, spooning off a bite of blue-raspberry. “This one over here is living the high life at her elite, fancy-pants private school in Boston,” he said gesturing at Hope with the back of his spoon then leaned forward and stage-whispered. “We’re lucky she even remembers us little people.”

Hope snorted then leaned further forward around MG and stage-whispered, “Don't listen to him. Berkley had way lower admission rates than Boston College, so if anyone's an elitist, it's this guy.”

"Plus, dude," Hope whacked him on the shoulder, remembering something else. "You row crew, that's like the douchiest, most elite thing you could do at a school!"

“You go to Berkley?” Lizzie perked up. “I’ve always wanted to go to San Francisco,” she said dreamily. 

Hope patted herself on the back. This wing-woman thing wasn’t so hard. She had hoped Lizzie would swoon over the allusion to MG's sporting prowess (or whatever it is that a coxswain does), but this would work, too. Either way, she was listening to MG intently now, no longer pretending to be put off by his post-work-funk. A win was a win was a win.

“I toured BC last semester,” Josie said to Hope while MG and Lizzie discussed California. 

“Oh, no way,” Hope said more than a little surprised. 

This part of the country was rife with universities and colleges, you couldn’t swing your arm to either side of you without hitting one. Plus, not everyone stayed on the Eastern seabord. MG was a prime example, hightailing it to the far coast. So Hope hadn’t even slightly expected Josie to say she'd showed an interest in attending the same school she was. 

It was a small enough campus, less than 10k undergrad, she could have easily walked past Josie’s tour group. Hope blanched at the thought. She wasn’t exactly charitable to the slow-moving groups of gawking potential new students and helicopter parents that occasionally clogged the campus pathways. 

She had been known to raise her voice at them on more than one occasion when she was running late and they would just not move off the path. Hope cringed just thinking about it. But, in her defense, the walkway was for _walking_ , not bumbling along like you were spending the day at Disneyland.

How many excited selfies did one kid need in front of statues and old historic buildings? If you ended up going to school there, you'd have an average of four more years to take pictures. Or, if you didn't go there, then why would you want those pictures anyway? The whole thing just didn't make any sense to her!

Hope was getting worked up just thinking about it. She crossed her fingers that if she had been on campus the day Josie was doing her tour, she had at least been in a charitable mood or, better yet, nowhere near the area they were in.

“Did you like it?” Hope asked Josie, really meaning ‘did you have any run-ins with hostile co-eds that looked suspiciously like me, but definitely weren't?’

“Yeah, it was pretty,” Josie nodded. “That one white Gothic building in particular. Wow.”

Hope chuckled. “Gasson Hall, yeah. It’s kind of in your face.”

“No hiding the Catholic background on that one,” Josie laughed. “And then the statue right there when you walk in?”

“God, I know,” Hope grimaced. That was the one complaint she had with her school -- its very Catholic history. “I grew up in Louisiana, where the only school you went to _was_ Catholic school, and sometimes I'm still surprised by that thing when I walk in there.”

“You grew up in Louisiana?”

“Yeah.” Hope looked down at her snow cone. She had opened the door to her past with that remark, but she hadn’t meant to. Something about Josie just had her forgetting all her usual habits and rules. “Surprised I don’t sound like it?” She grinned, hoping to keep things light.

“A little,” Josie admitted sheepishly. “Is that stereotyping?”

Hope laughed. “A little,” she echoed. “My family’s from New Orleans. It’s a little different than the rest of the state.”

“Wow, New Orleans, huh? Is it as wild of a city as it seems?”

Hope shrugged, “Depends on the day.” Josie laughed and Hope steered the conversation back to safer waters. "What about you? You guys just moved here before this past school year?"

Josie nodded and finished her bite of cherry-vanilla before responding. "Yeah, when dad got offered the position at Salvatore, it was too good to pass up."

"Did you have to move far?"

Josie shook her head. "Just the other side of Richmond."

"Do you miss it?"

"Yes and no." Josie kept her eyes on her snow cone as she elaborated. "It was home, yeah, but," she bit her lip and shot Hope a rueful smile over the styrofoam cup in her hand, "Penelope lives back there, and after everything kind of blew up with her this past year it ended up being a blessing in disguise."

Well, that would explain why Hope didn't remember seeing Penelope around town outside of that one run-in at the Saltzman's house.

"I get that," Hope said not unkindly. "Space can be nice when you're dealing with nuclear fallout like that," Then sensing a change of subject might be appreciated, she flipped back to the earlier conversation. “So did you hit up any other schools while you were in Bahhston?”

Josie smiled and nodded, playing along with the obnoxious accent. “Oh yeah, ahftah we pahhked the cah, we visited a few more schools. Some good, some bad.”

“Did you and Lizzie make a weekend of it?” Hope asked, picking up on the ‘we.’

“Oh. Uh.” Josie suddenly seemed uncomfortable for some reason.

Lizzie clued Hope into why. Tuning in apparently when she'd heard her name mentioned, she scoffed, “As if I’d ever go on a trip with She Who Shall Not Be Named.” 

Hope looked between the two sisters, realization slowly dawning on her just who might have been the other half of Josie’s ‘we.’

So much for that change of subject. 

“She Who Shall Not Be Named?” MG asked. 

Hope watched Josie as she became seemingly fascinated with the picnic table, digging a fingernail into a knotted whorl in the wood.

Lizzie nodded and continued. Regardless of her sister’s perturbed silence, Lizzie was obviously not one to miss a chance to dunk on an enemy. “Josie’s witch of an ex-girlfriend. Josie finally banished her for good to the realm of our old town, but some times," her voice took on a weathered quality as looked into the distance, clearly haunted by her memories, "I still think I can smell the hint of sulfur in the air or hear whispers of her insipid snarking.”

"Because that's not dramatic," Josie said to the picnic table, causing Hope to hide a snort behind a bite of her snow cone. Josie smiled up at her through her eyelashes briefly before turning to her sister. "Are you sure that wasn't just your own snarking you were hearing?"

"As if," Lizzie scoffed. "My snarking is delightful, never insipid."

“This the same ex who was the inciting force behind those apology cookies?” MG asked. Then, to Josie, he smiled and said, “Those were delicious by the way. Best apology ever.”

Josie smiled tentatively at him, “Thanks.”

“They really were,” Hope added quickly, desperate to bring Josie’s smile back for real. “Chocolate chip peanut butter is my all-time favorite.”

“Mine, too,” Josie said. This time her smile reached her eyes. 

“Besides,” MG began, seizing upon an opening to turn the attention away from Josie who was clearly uncomfortable. “You’re not the only one with wild exes. Hope and I were just talking about how last summer when we were here, Hope’s ex-girlfriend threw a snow cone in her face.”

Josie gasped. Lizzie leaned forward in shock and delight. Hope groaned.

That was it, Hope was going to kill this boy. Work partner be damned. She'd mow all the yards by herself for the rest of the summer, if she had to. It would be a small price to pay to avoid going down this particular conversational path with Josie.

“She threw a snow cone in your face?” Lizzie asked, more than moderately excited by the promise of heretofore unheard town gossip. 

Hope nodded as well as she could considering how her forehead was firmly pressed to the wooden tabletop. 

“To be fair,” MG said. “It was kind of warranted.”

“ _How_?” Josie asked, scandalized.

“Yes,” Lizzie jumped back in. “Explain. Spare no details. Please.”

Hope couldn't remember the last time a please had sounded so threatening. On the bench beside her, MG was wiggling in excitement, a sure sign he was gearing up to tell a juicy story. Before he could ruin her life and any shot of showing her face with dignity at the Saltzman house again, Hope threw her arm out across his chest and lifted her head to pin him with a glare. 

“Milton Greasley, if you say another word, _I_ will throw a snow cone in _your_ face, so help me god.” 

MG deflated like a popped balloon.

“Booooo,” Lizzie jeered. “You can’t just bait us with a good story and then withhold the drama. I mean that’s just like the rules of feminism.”

“Mean Girls, nice,” MG grinned in approval at Lizzie then looked beseechingly back at Hope. “Come on, Mik," he wheedled. "It is a really funny story."

Hope’s eyes bounced across the table to Josie. She was doing a poor job of appearing neutral. Her arms were crossed like she didn't want to touch the topic, but her lips were quirked in the beginning stages of a grin and she had bent forward like she didn't want to miss a thing. 

When MG threw in the puppy dog eyes, Hope groaned and threw up her hands in defeat. “Fine. But I’m prefacing this whole thing with the fact that, at the time, I was young and dumb and have since grown and learned from my mistakes.”

Lizzie raised an eyebrow. “I thought you said it was last summer.”

“And?” Hope sniffed indignantly.

“Aaaaand,” Josie jumped in before Lizzie could deliver a more cutting remark. “Quit stalling.”

Laughter was playing at the corners of Josie's mouth now, and Hope watched as her amusement and excitement got the better of her, lighting up her eyes in a way that had Hope wishing she still painted. She'd remember that look all the same, with or without the help of a canvas. And all it took was the promise of selling her dignity. Hope had taken only one finance course, but even with her nascent knowledge, she could tell it was a fair trade.

Lizzie slapped her hands on the tabletop. “Tell us what you did to deserve a ‘cone to the face!”

Hope looked at MG questioningly.

“It’s your story,” he gestured, grin splitting his face, shoulders back to wriggling in anticipation.

“Fine, fine.” So Hope told them the tale of her ill-fated love affairs with the Machado siblings.

“How could you not have known they were brother and sister?!” Lizzie immediately wanted to know.

“They looked nothing alike!” 

Hope almost dug out her phone to pull up Instagram to prove her point, but then Josie was laughing and asking, “Hope, they had the same last name.”

“I didn’t _know_ that!”

“They literally lived in the same house, Hope,” This from MG, the traitor.

“Okay, one, there wasn’t exactly a whole lot of talking with Ethan,” this earned an appreciative ‘oooh’ from Lizzie and a narrowing of the eyes from Josie, “and _two_ , it was dark when I went to his house that one time! All suburban houses look the same up here!”

Hope watched Josie clamp her hand back over her mouth to keep more giggles from escaping and decided she didn’t mind being the cause of that. Even if Josie was laughing at her, not with her. That hardly mattered. Either way, it was better than the sadness that had momentarily stolen over Josie’s features earlier.

“Do all suburban houses have Sheriffs' cars parked out front, too?” MG asked.

“ _What_?!” Both Saltzmans squealed at once.

“Oh, did we not mention that?” MG asked, feigning surprise. He clapped Hope on the back. “Hope, why don’t you tell them what Mrs. Machado, Maya and Ethan’s mom, does for a living in the wonderful town.”

“Shut up,” Lizzie said, eyes full of stars and fingernails in her mouth in anticipation.

Hope hung her head. “Mrs. Machado, more commonly referred to as _Sheriff_ Machado, is the Sheriff-elect of this wonderful town we live in.”

Lizzie was already crowing with laughter as soon as Hope said the word Sheriff. “Wow,” she gasped, wiping tears from her eyes.

"Tell them what she said to you as she kicked you out," MG goaded.

Hope looked up at the tree above them, and the clouds above that, anywhere than at the girl sitting across from her. "She said that I could either leave in my car or handcuffed in the back of hers, but I was leaving immediately either way." Everyone laughed this time, even Hope.

"At least she let you put your shirt back on first," MG said, thumping her supportively on the back.

"True!" Lizzie tipped her giant snow cone at Hope in a toast to that.

"I just want to repeat, for the official record," Hope said loudly, "the fact that there was a period of at least three weeks between my...dalliances with them. I was not then -- nor will I ever be -- a cheater." She crossed her arms and nodded her head once, firmly.

“Way to dig for the moral high ground there, pal," Lizzie smirked. 

Josie wiped the tears from her eyes, still giggling. "That was...”

“Wow,” Lizzie finished at the same time MG offered “Wow?” They shared a look over the coffee table at their synchronicity.

Lizzie reached over and covered MG's hand with her own. MG couldn't have lit up more if he'd been screwed into a lamp and plugged into the wall.

"As funny as that story was," Lizzie said smiling sweetly and not looking away from his eyes. "If you pull something like that with me and my sister, MG, you'll get more than just a little snow cone thrown in your face, capisce?" 

"You got it, boss." Her smile never dropped and neither did his. It was strangely intimate in a menacing kind of way...

“Well, if you all are finished enjoying my pain,” Hope made to stand from the table. 

Josie reached out and caught her freckled wrist. “Not so fast ya don’t,” she tugged Hope back into her seat, grinning at her from across the table and only releasing her wrist after she'd stopped fidgeting. “It’s nice to know I’m not the only one with a questionable dating history.”

“Yeah,” Hope scoffed, “except, in my case, _I’m_ the asshole ex.”

Josie bit back a smile. “Maybe.”

“Now you see why I prefaced with my disclaimer of having since grown and learned from my mistakes!”

“And what exactly did you learn from that experience?”

Hope picked at the same whorl in the wood Josie had been picking at earlier. “To always ask for someone’s last name and full family tree before making out with them.”

Josie threw her head back laughing loud and clear as the sky above them. “Not what I was expecting, but okay. We’ll workshop that,” she said breathing deeply to settle her giggles.

“Okay,” Hope agreed easily, grinning at Josie's use of 'we.' She hadn't run the other girl off just yet with that jaunt down memory lane.

Not that she was had grand plans to try to keep Josie around. It would just be easier if a person she interacted with every Tuesday wasn't actively revolted by her very presence.

Aw, hell. Who was she fooling?

"So, are you dating anyone now?" Josie asked, bottom lip caught between her teeth. "Sibling or otherwise?"

"Well, I did meet a nice set of triplets, the other day..." They shared a chuckle, then Hope shook her head and leaned back from the table, gripping the edge of the seat. Being so close to Josie was intoxicating, she needed the minute bit of space to clear her head. "No, seriously, I'm not seeing anyone right now. Just hoping to keep things light and drama-free this summer."

Josie smirked. "Nice change of pace?" 

"Yeah," Hope grinned. "What about you? Any other people I should be worried about taking my head off on the back porch of your house?"

Josie huffed. "No, thank god. I'm trying to steer clear of the assholes for a while."

"Nice change of pace?"

In response, Josie balled up a napkin and threw it at her. Hope caught it easily, smiling cheekily, before making a big show of dropping it on the table. Josie stuck out her tongue. 

"What about recovering assholes?" Hope couldn't help but ask.

"Hmm... I might make an exception," Josie's eyes flashed over Hope like a physical sensation. "Depending on how far along in the recovery process they are, of course."

"Of course," Hope repeated automatically, feeling like her cheeks were as red as the melted tiger's blood snow cone she stirred in her cup. 

“Soooo…” Hope groped around for a different topic that didn’t involve her accidentally telling Josie how beautiful she looked when she laughed. “Will I be seeing you on campus this fall?” 

She tried to keep the level of displayed interest in her tone and face to a casual level. The possibility that Josie could be in the same city, let alone attending the same school, next year seemed too good to be true, but she had to find out. 

Not that that would change anything in this exact moment, necessarily. Josie was still probably hung up on Penelope, and even if she wasn't she'd just been treated to a ten-minute lesson on how much of a dumbass Hope could be when it came to dating.

Hope wouldn't bet on a future wherein Josie gave her a chance, but still. It might be nice for Josie to have a familiar face around. Maybe they could be friends.

Hope ignored the way her stomach curled in distaste at the word ‘friend’ and instead focused on Josie’s response. 

“Ah, no actually,” Josie said, back to tracing the whorl with her fingernail, a mere three inches away from where Hope's own hand rested on the table. It might as well have been three thousand miles.

Hope’s heart fell at Josie’s answer. She knew it had been a longshot.

“But I will be nearby.”

Hope perked up like a sunflower when the clouds dissipate. “Oh?”

Josie bit her lip and nodded. “Yeah, uh, I’ll be starting at Wellesley in September.”

“Wow.”

That was not at all what Hope had expected to hear.

Wellesly. It may not have been the same school as Hope's, but it was just down the road. Less than twenty minutes in light traffic.

Wellesly, her brain repeated like a scratched record. Her main exposure to the school was at the lesbian bar she frequented in Boston. A lesbian bar where a _high_ percentage of the girls in attendance were Wellesley alums. There was a reason the term "Wellesly marriage" was first coined; a stereotype didn't just pop out of thin air after all. Hope shook herself from the thought of running into Josie at said gay bar some night and just what all that might (maybe could possibly hopefully) entail. 

Blinking, she refocused her gaze and hoped the grin she shot the other girl was more impressed-with-your-potential-future-endeavours, less thinking-about-dancing-with-you-in-a-neon-lit-crowded-room. What else did she know about Wellesley? Oh, yes.

“Gonna be the next Hillary Clinton?” 

“I'm more of an Elizabeth Warren kinda gal,” Josie said roguishly.

“Damn, okay. I do like a woman with a plan.”

"Oh, yeah? You think I'd get your vote?"

"Definitely."

“Are you two _political_ flirting?” Lizzie cut in with a groan. “Disgusting. This isn’t an episode of West Wing.”

“It cannot be any worse than the comic book flirting I have to listen to you two doing,” Josie shot back.

“Yeah!” Hope chimed in laughing.

“Easy, easy,” MG said with a grin, hands outstretched flat in a placating gesture. “All personal expressions of flirting are recognized and valid here. Let’s dial it back; this may not be West Wing, but it also isn’t Fox News.”

“You know," Lizzie mused, chin in her hand. "I’ve always wanted to guest on there."

When everyone at the table looked at her like she had grown a second head, she rolled her eyes. “Not, like, a _supportive_ guest. They have regular sane people on there, too, for like dynamism and sport. Like punching bags for those half-baked panelists of theirs to wail on. I could go on, pose as a punching-bag-person, and then the next thing they know? Wham-bam, Tucker Carlson better watch his toupee, because this punching bag is punching _back_."

To prove her point she did a series of quick, wildly uncoordinated karate chops and punches. Josie, who'd either already heard this spiel or just knew her sister, had preemptively moved her snow cone cup off the table once the hands started flying. MG was nearly not so lucky. His attention was so focused on the fire in Lizzie's eyes, his blue-raspberry was almost a casualty of an errant left hook.

"Easy there, Southpaw," Josie said, catching the hand before it could do any real damage.

Lizzie ignored the admonition and kept detailing her master plan. "It’d just be so fun to rile those assholes up. And easy! It’d make high-school look like a UN meeting.” She sighed dreamily as if there was no greater goal in her life than to raise blood pressures and kick conservative ass while doing it. And maybe there wasn't. Hope could kind of respect that.

“Lizzie, I’ve only known you a short time,” Hope said slowly and consideringly. “But I can confidently say, you would be perfect at that.”

Lizzie beamed proudly. “Thanks.”

“Like using your powers for good,” MG chimed in adoringly, still clutching the remainder of his blue-raspberry to his chest.

“Aaaand back to the comic book flirting,” Josie sighed in resignation. She caught Hope’s eye knowingly across the table and Hope felt something soft and small inside her chest begin to bloom. 

Damnit. She'd been trying to avoid this very thing. She could feel a crush taking root that first time meeting Josie on her front step, but had been trying in vain to tamp it down since that Penelope forced her way, no matter how briefly, into the picture. Josie had just gotten out of a turbulent relationship; the last thing she needed was Hope drooling after her like a pitiful puppy.

And yet...

Hope’s panic was overridden by the petal-soft smile shining in Josie’s eyes. It was hard to think about anything else (what Hope had or had not planned) when Josie looked at her like _that_. Like she had a secret and she was inviting Hope to share it with her. Hope, who'd been avoiding getting any closer to this girl, found herself wanting to do just that. 

But. This was not a date. It was a group hang. One orchestrated by and for MG. Hope was here for his benefit. She was a wing-woman. That was her role here. To get MG on an _actual_ date with Lizzie. It had nothing to do with her or Josie. 

_Josie_. Who was magnetic and warm and goofy and obviously more layered than Hope had originally given her credit for being. She'd seen that flash of a challenge in her eyes that first day, had seen hints of it since then. Plus, she'd apparently put Penelope in her place, which, judging by the twenty seconds of pure attitude Hope had witnessed, could not have been an easy task.

Hope allowed herself to look, to really look at the girl sitting across from her. Sunlight fluttered across her skin as the breeze sifted the leaves above them and occasionally blew down across their table, lifting Josie’s hair off her shoulders. It made Hope want to lean closer and smooth it back down. Want to run her fingers through the brown tresses and see if they were as soft as they looked in the shifting, muted sunlight.

Damn. She really was fucked.

But, maybe, Hope thought as her eyes traced the soft curve of Josie's cheek and she allowed herself to bask in the warm light of Josie's eyes, maybe that wasn't such a bad thing.

Maybe, just maybe, it could be a good thing.

Across the table, MG and Lizzie happily nattering away next to them, their eyes met and Hope found Josie holding her gaze steadily, not shying away even when the air between them seemed to thicken and warm and Hope felt her own breath catch in her throat.

Hope swallowed. Damn, she really hoped it could be a good thing. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is it getting hotter out here or is that just Hope?

The following Tuesday there was another addition to the Saltzman backyard. In between mowing and weed-eating, Hope took a break and inspected the wooden frame of what appeared to be a raised flower bed. The Saltzmans had a few clay pots full of flowers placed around their pool, but this was definitely new. 

Walking back to where she’d set down the weed-eater, Hope pulled the hem of her t-shirt up to wipe the sweat from her face. Every year she continued to be surprised with just how much hotter July managed to be than June. She didn’t know how it was even possible. There should be a limit to how hot Mystic Falls was allowed to get and it should have been about ten degrees back. Global warming could take a fucking hike.

She looked at the crystal clear pool beside her longingly. She could feel sweat running down her sides and stomach, pooling in her belly button and catching in the waistband of her shorts. And that was to say nothing about her sports bra constricting her chest like a damp, tight sponge. She never understood why lusting after pool boys was such a popular trope among certain age groups and income brackets. She imagined they would smell just as gross as she did right now. But with chlorine added. She spared one more envious look at the pool, mopping at her throat with the already damp cotton of her shirt.

On days like today, Hope really envied MG. Boys had it easy. No sweaty bra to be constricted by, and if it got bad enough, they could just take their shirts off altogether. Meanwhile, she was only allotted the briefest of breezes cooling her bare skin while she had her shirt lifted. So unfair. She groaned and fanned her shirt.

By chance, Hope looked up and there was Josie. She stood like a statue on the back porch, water bottle in hand, eyes the size of soccer balls and glued to Hope’s torso.

“Oh,” Hope startled. She quickly smoothed her shirt back down. Jesus. How embarrassing. “Hey.”

“He-hey.” Josie all but stumbled down the stairs, clearly not paying attention to her feet. “Uh, thirsty?”

It was hard to tell who was redder. Hope after inadvertently semi-flashing the daughter of a client or Josie after being semi-flashed by a gross, sweaty Hope. 

“Sure.” Hope took the proffered water bottle, careful not to let her damp hand touch Josie’s clean one. 

“Yeah, me too apparently,” Josie grumbled under her breath.

“Oh,” Hope offered the water back to Josie. “You want the first drink?”

“What? Oh! No, no,” Josie shook her head. “I’ll just, uh, get some inside. You’re really hot- _look_ really hot. So, you should drink that one.” No contest, Josie’s cheeks were flaming now.

“Oh-kay.” Hope’s ears were still ringing a little from the lawnmower, but it had sounded like… No, that probably wasn’t right. She shook the thought from her head and drank some water. She hadn't been lying, she was thirsty. Josie was a life-saver. Seriously, fuck global warming.

In her haste to rehydrate, Hope's hand got ahead of her mouth. Water came pouring out too quickly and sluiced down her chin, along her throat, and past the collar of her shirt. 

Just fantastic. First Josie saw her wiping her sweaty face on her sweaty shirt like some sweaty barbarian, and now she can’t even drink water correctly. How un-smooth could one girl be?

She looked at Josie, hoping the other girl had missed her second faux pas. But nope, no such luck. Josie's eyes were zeroed in on the trail the spilled water had just taken. 

Damn. Josie had definitely seen that. Hope just could not catch a break with this girl. First, her dirty dating laundry gets aired, and now she can’t even remember how to be a functioning human.

In a bid to redirect the attention away from her own slovenly person, Hope pointed at the wooden structure along the back fence. “Whose raised flower bed is that?”

Josie at least had the decency to flinch, her gaze guiltily jumping back up to Hope’s eyes, before looking in the direction Hope was pointing. She probably wished she hadn't seen the spill either.

"Oh!" Josie said like she finally heard Hope's question. "It’s mine. I kept seeing them on Pinterest and…" She chuckled, "Well, I pulled a total suburban white girl and immediately asked my dad to get one."

“A few of our other clients have them,” Hope nodded. “They always look really nice. What are you going to plant in yours?”

Josie grimaced and hid her face behind her hand. “That’s the problem. I have no idea.”

“Overwhelmed with possibilities?” 

“Yes,” Josie groaned. “I can’t decide if I want to do flowers or like herbs for cooking and stuff!”

Hope studied the bed. It looked pretty spacious. “Why not both?”

“Wouldn’t that look kind of wonky?”

Hope shrugged. “It’s plants. Wonky is part of the charm.” She grinned at Josie, “If it turns out too crazy you can just call it ‘rustic.’ People eat that shit up with a spoon.”

“‘Rustic,’” Josie repeated, trying out the phrase for herself. “I think I could work with that.”

“Good,” Hope grinned. “If you need any help--”

“Wait, really?” Josie whirled on the other girl excitedly. “You’d help me?”

“Um. Yeah?”

Then, as quickly as it appeared, Josie’s excitement melted into an uncertain frown. “I’d hate to ask that of you. You spend all day outside for work. I’m sure the last thing you want to do when you get off is go right back outside for _more_ yardwork.”

Hope laughed to cover up the fact that Josie had just hit the nail on the head. Hope's idea of a good time after work was a cool shower and central air conditioning. Josie was right, but like hell was Hope gonna let Josie know that. Hope couldn’t very well just out and tell Josie she would do yardwork 24/7 if it meant spending extra time with her. 

Josie was looking for help, not dramatic declarations. So Hope kept all of _that_ to herself. “No, really,” Hope reassured. “My aunt is always after us to learn new skills so we can handle more services. It’d be like continued landscaping education!”

“Oh.” Josie digested this, then smirked. She crossed her arms and, lifting her chin imperiously, she said, “So then what you’re saying is that really is that I’d be the one helping you out, huh?”

Hope deliberated a moment. “Helping me. My resume. Mikaelson Lawn & Landscape as a whole...” 

“Oh, wow. The fate of the whole company?” 

“Yes," Hope answered, eyebrows earnestly lowered to convey the gravity of the matter at hand. "It all rests in your hands. And the hands of your flowerbed.”

Josie paused. “Do flower beds have hands?”

“Mmm… Good point.” Hope corrected, “It all rests in _your_ hands.”

“Who knew I was so important?”

Hope had to step on the urge to immediately say that she did, she knew Josie was important. But that didn’t seem at all appropriate for the moment. 

“Yeah, pretty wild huh? It goes: POTUS, VPOTUS, Nancy Pelosi, Secretary of State, then you.”

“Wow,” Josie said wonderingly. “Is this what true power feels like?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Hope held up her palms. “I’m just a lowly pawn. You’re the one holding mine and my family’s fate in your hands.” 

“Hmm…” Josie tapped her chin, thoughtfully weighing the proposal from all angles. “I guess I could help you,” she said slowly, then pointed her finger at Hope. “But only because if Mikaelson Lawn & Landscape folds Lizzie and I will have to find all new hot yard-workers to obsess over and you saw how heartbroken she was about Raf, when you guys first started. When do you think you could come over?”

Josie said the last part so quickly, barely pausing for breath, Hope almost missed the bit in the middle about hot yard-workers. Almost, but she didn’t. _Huh_. Interesting…

Oh, right, there had been a question in there somewhere. Scrambling, Hope rewound Josie’s words to the actual important part of that paragraph: when could she help Josie with her flowerbed?

“Um,” Hope thought about her schedule for a second. “Our schedule is pretty light on Fridays. I could knock off, run home, eat, and then come over around sixish if you’re not, um, if you don’t have other plans?” Hope crunched the water bottle in her hand nervously.

Josie smiled and quickly shook her head. “No other plans, nope. I’ll see you ‘around sixish.”

Hope let out a sigh of relief. How someone like Josie didn’t have plans on a Friday night, was beyond Hope, but she wouldn’t waste time looking a gift horse in the mouth. 

“Cool,” she tried to smile a smile that was an appropriately chill and casual level of excited for a non-date outing. “Friday it is.”

“It’s a dirt-date,” Josie giggled.

Hope almost tripped over the weed-eater behind her. Never mind then. “Yeah,” she croaked. “A dirt-date.”

xxxx

Hope barely even said goodbye to MG on Friday afternoon. He’d been mid-sentence when she signed in the last piece of their equipment and immediately turned on her heel and made for the door. She tossed an apology and a wave over her shoulder, but she’d have to figure out what the end of his story was later. Right now she needed to get home and shower.

Keelin was already home from her early shift at the hospital and relaxing on the couch when Hope blew in. “Woah there, pal,” she said, lowering her magazine so she could look at her niece already halfway up the stairs. “Who and/or what is chasing you?”

“No one, nothing, gotta shower, bye!”

Hope heard her aunt mutter something about needing a chill pill before Hope closed her bathroom door. Half shucking off her clothes, half adjusting the water temperature, Hope nearly fell into the bathtub before she realized her aunt probably had a point. 

She took a few deep breaths. And then promptly regretted doing so now that her shirt was off and she could better smell her own b.o. Lizzie really had not been kidding last week. How Josie put up with her when they interacted on the job, Hope didn't know. The other girl must just be exceedingly polite.

Hope's thoughts jerked back to the present. She was seeing Josie in two hours and for once she wanted to not smell like a dirty gym sock. She steadied her movements. Two hours, she reminded herself, purposefully slowing her movements to no longer risk dislocating a shoulder while she undressed.

She had two hours before Josie was even expecting her. All she needed to do was rinse off, get dressed, and eat before heading over. Easy. She did more in a quarter of the time every morning at school. 

But that was just class. This was _Josie_. Pretty, kind Josie who laughed at Hope’s jokes and brought her water when it was hot outside and was going to Wellesley in the fall and-

And Josie who may still be hung up on her ex-girlfriend, the rational side of her brain cut back in.

But Josie had called it a _date._ A dirt-date, yes, whatever that was, but a date nonetheless. Maybe. Possibly?

Ugh. Liking girls could be so confusing. 

Hope threw her hair up in a bun and got in the shower. Whatever this hang out was tonight, platonic or romantic, she needed to be semi-clean for it.

As she rinsed off, she allowed herself to pick back over the conversation with Josie on Tuesday afternoon. She’d already scoured the memory every day since then (she'd almost blitzkrieged the Nguyen's creeping ivy, she'd been thinking about it so hard actually). But still, Hope she was no closer to deciphering if Josie was legit flirting with her or just _friendly_ flirting with her. 

God, it never seemed to get easier guessing a girl’s intentions. If they weren’t so pretty and soft, she’d probably give up dating them all together; just stick with boys who were blunt and whose intentions were always clear cut for better or worse. 

But then a memory of Josie’s smile flitted across Hope’s mind again and she abandoned that whole debate. There was no way Hope was giving up dating girls when girls like _that_ existed.

Hope's thoughts circled and tightened, focusing on the originally innocuous memory...

Josie had the kind of mouth you couldn’t ignore. Hope knew this from practical experience. She’d tried. She’d failed. She could not look away.

Josie’s face in general was expressive, but her mouth… Her mouth was a whole different ball game. Her lips were so pillowy and pouty. Hope’s gaze was constantly catching on them despite her best efforts. They were just so--

Hope abruptly shut off the water, one hand pressed into the cold tile of the shower wall to ground herself in the present moment.

She reached for her towel and jumped out of the shower like it was a sinking ship. There were bad ideas and then there were just plain stupid ones. Thinking about Josie’s intriguing, tantalizing mouth in the shower less than two hours before she was scheduled to meet up and hang out with the other girl would fall firmly in the latter category. 

Hope pressed her towel to her face and groaned. Jesus, she needed to focus. She still had to figure out what she was wearing and- Oh god. What was she going to wear?

She flung open her closet doors and rifled through her drawers. What did one even wear to a, to a dirt-date? Her work clothes?

Hope held up one of her many ML&L branded shirts. Freya had t-shirts and collared lightweight fishing shirts embroidered for all employees. Personally, Hope preferred the tees and rarely wore the Columbia brand fishing shirt because she thought it made them look like douchey southern frat boys. But... It was definitely nicer than just the plain t-shirt...

She pulled one of the PFGs out and held up the hangar in front of her body in the mirror. Nope, nope, Hope shook her head. Still just as fratty as she remembered. Based on her one glimpse into the type of people Josie dated, that would not do. She threw the shirt back into the closet.

Taking a step back, she put her hands on her hips and thought. It was too hot for jeans. For a brief moment, she considered putting on a pair of yoga pants but figured that might be too casual for she and Josie's first planned hang out. She may be going to be digging in the dirt with Josie, but she still wanted to look like she had put some thought into her appearance.

Finally, she decided on a pair of jean shorts and a comfy (but cute!) striped tee. She felt embarrassingly proud of the simple outfit that was basically just a logo-less version of what she wore to work every day. But fuck it. A victory was a victory, goddamnit.

She did spend a long moment debating the merits of wearing a sports bra (comfortable) versus a real bra (boobs) before deciding to go with comfort. It wasn’t like Josie would be _seeing_ what was under her shirt tonight anyway. They were going to be digging in a flowerbed for chrissake, not fumbling around in the backseat of Hope’s car. 

In a perfect world, they could be doing both (preferably with a stop to wash and sanitize their hands in between). But in a perfect world, Josie would for sure be interested in Hope or at the very least for sure be over her ex-girlfriend. 

Not that Hope was above a casual hookup... She knew herself well enough to know that if it came down to it and that was what Josie was interested in, Hope wouldn’t think twice about taking the other girl up on it. 

When Hope was single, which she was, and down to mingle, which, again, she was, she had a very simple philosophy: life was too short to say no to a pretty girl or cute guy. Granted, that was how she got into that mess with the Machados, but. That was hardly relevant in _this_ situation.

That being said, Hope was a realist. As much as she may want something, she preferred not to get her hopes up. 

So she went with the sports bra. She brushed and re-braided her hair. And while she did make a few passes with her brow gel, that was it. She purposefully left the lip colors and gloss alone, and instead swiped on some chapstick. What, even if she wasn't expecting to kiss Josie, she didn't want the other girl staring at chapped lips all night. Being a realist didn't make her totally unaware. Chapped lips were appealing to no one -- actual-dates and friend-dates alike. 

She slipped on a pair of worn, but grass-stain-free Vans and looked in the mirror. She looked casual, but not seventy-two-hour-couch-a-thon casual. She rubbed in some lotion (that really was just for her, though, not Josie -- you had to take care of your skin when you worked outside all day) and joined her aunts downstairs.

Freya had picked up burgers on the way home and Hope ate hers standing up at the kitchen island, nervously bouncing from one foot to the other. Her eyes never left the clock on the stove. In the background, she was aware of Keelin and Freya giving each other looks and smirking at her expense.

“So,” Freya said, leaning on the countertop. “Whatcha got going on tonight, Hope?”

Hope swallowed her bite of burger and responded, “Nothing much.”

“That is so strange,” Keelin said slowly with a fake confused look, “because I could have sworn I saw you blow in here with a fire under your ass an hour and a half ago…”

“Maybe that was your other niece?” Hope offered absently. She was currently plotting her escape route.

“Oh, god, I hope not,” Freya cried. “One niece is more than enough as is. What the hell would we do with _another_?”

“Put her to work in that sweatshop of a business, probably,” Keelin said sagely.

“Hmm… Good point. This is the kind of thinking that I married you for, babe.”

Hope quickly swallowed the last of her hamburger and started slinking towards the trashcan, crumpling her wrapper as quietly as possible. Maybe she could make a break for it while they were distracted with each other…

Freya stuck out her leg to block Hope’s path. “Not so fast, kiddo.” 

Damn. Foiled.

“You may be an independent adult womanchild, but your aunt and I are nosy old biddies, so spill. Where are you going on this gloriously hot Friday evening in July?”

When Hope sighed and didn’t immediately answer, Keelin looked her over and began speculating. “No bathing suit tie peeking out of her shirt, so she isn’t going swimming.”

“And she doesn’t have a jacket, so she isn’t going to the movies,” Freya added.

“And if she was hanging out with MG, he’d already be here eating a burger…”

“Fine!” Hope exclaimed, turning to face them, lips pursed. “If you two 'old biddies' must know, I am going to help a friend plant a raised flower bed. Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” Freya deadpanned. 

“Thrilled to absolute pieces,” Keelin added, leaning in with a Cheshire grin. “Which friend?”

“Anyone we know?” Freya tilted her head, raising an eyebrow, and mirroring her wife’s smile.

“Perhaps someone whose parent will be calling us in a few hours banning you from ever stepping foot in their house again?” Keelin asked innocently.

Hope rolled her eyes up to the rafters. “That was one time…”

“And what a memorable time it was!” Freya expounded. “It's not every day your baby girl gets personally threatened by the Sheriff!”

“And for such a fun, unique reason!”

“Your Uncle Elijah was so proud.”

Hope’s cheeks flamed. She was all too aware what his take on the subject had been. He had made his delight very clear by pounding her on the back and giving her a beer the next time he was in town. A beer Keelin had promptly relieved her of because Hope was still underage, but still. What was more, he’d apparently proudly told the story to everyone back in NOLA who either knew Hope or knew of her. The joys of having a big family.

Granted, it was probably a blessing her guardians were able to laugh at it, as opposed to the alternative. Hope hadn't even been grounded. When they stopped laughing, Keelin had merely warned her to be better about minding other people's house rules, and that had been that.

That was one benefit of being a Mikaelson, Hope supposed. Over the years, they'd gotten remarkably good at rolling with the punches. Things rarely surprised them anymore. Hope sighed all the same. “You two should know, one can never _plan_ an event like that.”

“True, true,” Freya said wisely. “But if you had to guess: should we be expecting you to be escorted home via cop car tonight?”

Hope massaged her temples. If she stood here much longer being the butt of her aunts' jokes, she would have a headache on top of a wish for emancipation. “No.”

“Okay,” the two women shrugged. “Well have a nice time, then.”

“Thank you,” Hope sighed in relief. She walked out of the kitchen and then walked right back in.

So distracted by their questions, Hope had forgotten her own. She came to lean against the counter so she could smile winsomely at her beloved aunts.

“Oh, this should be good,” Freya snorted at the obvious change of mood. She and Keelin raised their eyebrows in expectation, hands folded under their chins.

Hope cleared her throat and smiled even more winsomely. “May I please borrow your truck?” 

Hope had thought about the evening’s activities, and as much as she really did like the sound of spending some quality time with Josie Saltzman in the backseat of her car, she thought it was far more probable that they’d end up having to make a run to Lowes or the nursery and pick up supplies of some sort. And for that, she needed her aunt’s truck.

“Oh, _my_ truck?” Freya pressed a hand to her chest heedless of the french fry still held between her fingers like a cigarette. 

“Yes,” Hope smiled beatifically. “We might need to swing by the store and I figured you would appreciate a little advertising for ML&L while it was parked in the parking lot.”

Keelin snorted into her beer. She didn’t even work with them at the landscaping shop and she knew that was bullshit.

Freya screwed up her face in exaggerated contemplation. “Interesting. So you want my truck for advertising purposes, not because you don’t wanna get dirt in your own car?”

“Oh golly, I didn’t even _think_ of that,” Hope cried, eyes wide to prove her innocence. “Surely you don’t think so little of me, Aunt Freya. Me. Your only niece. The youngest, most precious Mikaelson.” 

“Oh, hush.” Freya threw a french fry at her. “'Most precious' my ass. My keys are in the bowl by the door.” 

“Thank you!” Hope popped up on her toes to kiss her aunt on the cheek and drop the escaped french fry back into the bag. “I’ll make sure to park it by the road so _everyone_ can witness and marvel at the beautiful logo, just like you like. Love you guys!”

“Love you,” they chorused back to Hope’s retreating figure.

“Did you remember to put on deodorant?” Keelin called out right as the front door slammed shut.

Two seconds passed. Then, the front door opened again.

The two women in the kitchen sniggered as Hope rocketed up the stairs then came rocketing back down again.

“Honestly, how does she survive in Boston without us?”

“I heard that!”

  
  
“You were meant to!”

xxxx

Sure enough, Hope’s premonition was correct. She arrived at the Saltzman house, and after surveying Josie’s supplies and plans, they got right back into the truck to head to the local nursery. A trip to Lowes alone wouldn't do. She and Josie needed to go to Mystic Falls' gardening mecca. They were starting this project at ground zero. 

“At least we don’t have to build the frame,” Josie offered after reviewing the list of things they needed to obtain.

Ok, maybe one step up from ground zero. 

Hope just laughed and dug her keys back out of her pocket. “Come on,” she said, tugging Josie to her feet and towards the vehicle.

At least there was air conditioning in the truck. Hard to be annoyed by a yard work plan that featured them spending time out of the actual heat of the yard.

The first thing Josie did after buckling her seatbelt was reach out and flick the green and yellow and purple beaded necklace hanging from Hope’s rearview mirror. “Are these Mardi Gras beads?” 

Hope nodded, “My uncle brought them back to fuck with my aunts last time he was in town.”

“Fuck with them how?"

"Well, they're gay," Hope explained trying to work out the logic herself. "And to him, that translates to loving all things boob-related. Don't ask me, I've never understood their dynamic." Her uncle Elijah was beyond logic most of the time. Especially when it came to jokes between him and his sister.

Just last Christmas, he'd gotten Freya a toque shaped like a beaver. Freya had gotten him a pair of pajama pants that said JACK across the ass. This from two people in their late thirties. They'd almost toppled the Christmas tree laughing themselves silly, while she and Keelin got more coffee in the kitchen and generally ignored the two siblings.

"Only child probs," Josie deducted. "He sounds fun.” 

“I wouldn’t submit my public endorsement just yet if I was you. Wait until you listen to him tell the same three jokes over and over again at dinner.”

“Inviting me to your family dinners already?” Josie smirked and Hope blushed at the implication. That wasn't what she'd meant, but... Hope couldn't say she was opposed.

Okay, maybe opposed to subjecting Josie to Uncle Elijah's brand of older-brother-uncle annoyingness first thing, but he wasn't coming into town until Thanksgiving. So they had time to work up to that. Shit, Hope was getting ahead of herself. 

“I’ve never dined with a New Orleanian landscaping dynasty before,” Josie said thoughtfully. “New Orleansian? New Orlandish? What do you call people from there anyway?”

“Crazy, mostly,” Hope grinned and pulled out of the neighborhood. 

Josie barked out a surprised little laugh. “Is that why you guys moved up here? Too much crazy down there?”

Hope thought about how to best answer this question. The truth was complicated. Just like everything with her family. Especially anything concerning her dad and the road that lead to Freya and Keelin becoming her guardians. That was a discussion for another time. She closed the door on that particular dark hallway of her past and went with a lighter version of the truth. 

“Keelin's family is from up here,” Hope said, keeping her eyes on the road. “She and Freya, my birth-aunt, moved here like fifteen years ago to take care of her mom. Legend has it Aunt Frey got tired of paying someone to mow her mother-in-law’s yard, so she just went out and bought the company.”

“What a unique problem-solving method,” Josie appraised impressed. “Wait, so Mikaelson Lawn & Landscape isn’t even a family business! It’s all a clever capitalist ruse!”

Hope couldn't help but laugh at the outburst. “It can’t be both? My aunt runs the company. My uncle ran a crew when he lived up here. And, of course, I am part of the family and I do work for the business, too.”

“So, _sort_ of a family business," Josie surmised suspiciously. Hope just shook her head, chuckling.

They turned west into the setting sun and she dug blindly in the center console for a pair of sunglasses. She knew Freya kept some in here somewhere. Josie watched her struggle for a second before reaching up without a word and popping open a compartment on the ceiling that Hope didn’t think she’d ever seen before. Voila, sunglasses. Josie pulled them out and handed them to Hope with a smirk. Smiling gratefully Hope slid them on to stave off the low slung sun. There, so much better.

Blinking the bright spots from her eyes, she responded to Josie’s previous accusation, “Family is whatever you want it to be.” 

Out of the corner of her eye, Hope could see Josie looking at her appraisingly. “And sometimes a family is a hodgepodge of aunts and uncles and lawn equipment?” she guessed.

“Yes. And snow cones.”

Josie laughed. “Of course. So what about you? Did you move up later, or have you always lived with your aunts?” 

Hope squirmed in her seat and chuckled to hide her discomfort. Josie’s tone hadn’t been anything less than innocently curious, but it still hit squarely on a subject Hope wasn’t prepared to discuss right here, right this minute.

“You weren’t kidding about that Elizabeth Warren comment. Kinda feel like I’m at a Senate hearing here.”

“Sorry,” Josie blushed and looked out the passenger window, “you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

Shoot. She’d been hoping for an out, but when presented with one, Hope was more worried about Josie feeling rebuffed.

“No, no,” Hope quickly said, “it’s ok.” She wanted to reach out and touch Josie’s wrist in reassurance. Lightly brush the pads of her fingers to the skin where the thin, sun-bleached braided bracelet hung. Just a light touch to pull Josie back from any self-conscious concerns.

But then Josie turned back to Hope of her own volition and Hope hastily focused on the road. Which was probably for the best. The way her fingers ached against the steering wheel, Hope wasn’t sure she’d be able to stop touching once she started. 

“Um,” what were they talking about again? Oh, right. She readjusted her grip on the bottom of the steering wheel. “I moved here about five years after Freya and Keelin. Right at the start of high school, so seven years ago, maybe?” 

Hope felt her face cloud at the memory. She knew the year it had been, knew it exactly, and not just because it was the year she started high school. She’d only seen her father's headstone once, but it was enough to chisel the date marked upon it into her memory. 

“And you were in New Orleans before that?”

“Yeah,” Hope nodded, trying not to get sucked back into the memory of all that that entailed. Across the truck cab, Josie was waiting patiently for her to continue, mouth tilted up in an endearingly supportive smile. 

It was too sweet of a scene for Hope to disrupt with any of the truths crowding her throat. She swallowed the words back down and screwed a jaunty smirk on her face. The facial expression felt gauche in comparison to Josie's genuine one, but Hope pressed on anyway.

"Anything to escape those damn Louisiana Catholic school nuns," she explained and went for broke, throwing in an exaggerated shudder to top it off.

When in doubt, distract, deflect, and misdirect. That may as well be her life motto. It was a motto that worked well for her. She could keep her barriers intact without always having to resort to the backup method (just telling people to fuck the hell off).

Somewhere along the way, she'd picked up on something. Deflection only really worked if both parties were willing participants. People had to want to be misdirected. And for the most part, Hope had found that people _did_ want that. So Hope usually managed to escape. For better or worse.

A quick look at Josie confirmed what Hope had suspected might be the case: her distraction had not worked. Seeing Josie's calculating eyes, now, Hope realized she had once again misjudged the other girl. Hope’s gut twisted anxiously at the too-knowing-for-comfort look Josie was giving her. Josie could tell there was more to the story. 

A beat hung frozen between them. With a sinking feeling, it dawned on Hope that if Josie decided to press her on this, she didn’t think she had it in her to lie to the other girl. Hope prided herself on being private, obviously. That's just how she had decided to cope with things. She kept her demons at bay by keeping them separate from her everyday interactions. But. With Josie... Hope knew in her gut it could, would be different. If she wanted. Josie's eyes were just too warm, mouth too soft, to deny her if she really asked. How could Hope possibly keep this girl at arm’s length, when all she wanted to do was pull her closer.

Josie stopped chewing on her lip and opened her mouth slowly. Hope braced for impact. 

“All that work and the nuns were still damned,” Josie mused. “Seems like they should get their money back.”

Josie’s tone was light, but her eyes, still tight on Hope's profile said the rest of the story. She saw through Hope's defenses and was letting it pass. Rather than push, she was withdrawing to let Hope regroup.

  
It somehow felt even more intimate than if Hope had just spilled her whole tragic backstory. Hope shivered at the thought. There was now an implicit understanding of consent between them — Josie wouldn’t push until Hope was ready and willing to give her more. They could do this on Hope’s terms.

Rather than slump in relief at being let off the hook, Hope’s chest gave a painful little squeeze at this realization. Josie _saw_ her. And was willing to let her do things her own way. She wasn’t knocking down walls, taking Hope’s emotions captive. She was accepting what Hope wanted to give in this moment and waiting patiently for another chance perhaps later down the road.

Or. Maybe she was reading into things. They were driving to pick up gardening supplies, not on a therapist's couch unpacking any and all of Hope's myriad of traumas for chrissakes. Maybe Josie simply didn’t care about Hope’s story and was just trying to keep this light and fun. Hope could certainly understand that if it was the case. Hell, it was what she wanted, too, after all. She wanted to enjoy herself with Josie. Not relive her tragic past. Whatever this was with Josie, she’d rather it not be spoiled by pity.

Which was why, rather than linger on these uncertainties any longer, Hope redirected the conversation back to their project. “Tell me again what kind of flowers we’re looking for?”  
  


As she pretended to look at her passenger-side mirror and instead chanced another glance at Josie, Hope knew she'd been right the first time. There was no mistaking the recognition and soft understanding on Josie’s face.

Josie looked at her for a half a moment longer before smoothly transitioning back to the task at hand. She dug out her list (an actual handwritten list on paper, not just typed out on her phone; Hope had found herself immeasurably charmed by this detail when Josie had brandished it at her house) and started going over the design again.

As Josie listed the menagerie of flowers and herbs and sundry other items they would be needing (the girl had clearly done her research, again Hope was impressed and charmed), Hope couldn’t shake feeling like she was some fragile little bird that had fallen from a tree at Josie’s feet. Here was Josie carrying the conversation, allowing the re-direct. Patiently picking Hope up and placing her back in her safe nest.

xxxx

True to her word, Hope parked the truck conspicuously beside the sign for Castillo And Sons’ Nursery, the Mikaelson Lawn & Landscape logo displayed prominently for anyone passing by on the road to see.

Hope hopped out and snapped a picture. “I promised my aunt I’d do it if I could borrow her truck,” she explained to Josie, quickly sending the photo to her aunt and shoving her phone back in her pocket.

“So, is this a real family business?” Josie asked with a smirk, pointing at the sign. “Or is this another capitalist ruse like your company?”

“Oooh, one peek behind the curtain of the landscaping world and she’s suddenly a cynic,” Hope bumped Josie’s hip. “Yes, Mr. Castillo is a real person and he really does own this place. Although, I think he has just one son...”

“I knew it! Another fraudulent family!” Josie cried, bouncing into the store and holding the door open for Hope. “Do you guys all go to the same fake family reunions? Dream up your brilliantly deceitful business plans over hot dogs and games of Twister and limbo?”

“Twister and Limbo?” Hope raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t know," Josie flailed indignantly, "I’ve never been to a family reunion, fake or otherwise, how should I know what you guys do.”

They stopped to grab a cart and then they were off, Hope letting Josie lead the way, her list clutched in her hand like a map. It was beyond cute. Hope, truthfully, had been here loads of times before with Freya and Elijah and knew her way around fairly well. And probably, she could have saved them some time and took them straight to wherever they needed to go, but she was enjoying wandering after Josie way too much to suggest such a thing.

They wound their way through the grounds circuitously, sometimes back-tracking or getting sidetracked, Hope grabbing whatever Josie read off from her list and smiling the whole way. Hope couldn’t complain. Not even when she ended up having to heft bags of soil in and then out and then back into the cart. 

“Sorry,” Josie said sheepishly as she looked away from Hope and grabbed the other end of the bag to help move the potting soil back onto the pallet it came from. “Got a little distracted there.”

“Distracted by what, bags of dirt?” Hope laughed lightly. “Can’t wait to see what happens when we get to the actual plants.” 

She straightened, brushing her hands off on the seat of her shorts. Without the bag between them, it became suddenly apparent just how close they were standing. Hope swallowed. 

Trying to refocus on the mission, not how nice Josie’s hair smelled, Hope tilted the paper in Josie’s hand so she could see the list. “Where to next, boss?” 

Hope looked up. Josie’s eyes weren’t on the paper but on her.

“Um.” Josie shook her head and looked back at the paper, a blush ever so faintly spreading across her cheeks. She bit her lip and stared hard at her own handwriting like she had never seen it before. “I think we can hit up the plants now,” Josie said, not moving her eyes from the paper. 

“Okay,” Hope heard herself say breathlessly, her own eyes not moving from Josie’s face ten inches in front of her own. 

Hope was pretty sure this was the closest she had ever been to the other girl. If she was honest with herself, it didn't feel halfway close enough. Even if they were standing in the middle of a public place surrounded by bags of dirt and fertilizer.

Hope watched as Josie’s eyes dart up to her own. They looked darker from this close. Maybe it was the muted light coming through the netted overhang above them, or maybe… Maybe it was something else. 

Josie’s lips parted and Hope felt herself sway that much closer. Like a branch in the wind or a bee to a flower or--

“Is that a Mikaelson in my store?” A man bellowed down the aisle.

Hope jumped and spun around to see who had just interrupted them. Behind her, she heard Josie let out a breath.

She focused on hastily pasting on a smile when she saw the trim, neatly-dressed man responsible for the loud greeting. “Hey, Mr. C.”

As always, Mr. Castillo was dressed in a long-sleeve, button-up tucked into starched jeans despite the heat of the outdoor area. And, as always, his clothes were immaculate save for a single smudge of dirt on each knee from where he had no doubt knelt to pick something up for a customer despite the fact he was getting on in years. Hope, not for the first time, thought about how much Mrs. Castillo had to love her husband to iron and wash his clothes every day. She assumed she had to be well-versed in the art of getting soil from fabric, though.

Mr. Castillo, unaware of just how untimely his appearance was, walked up beaming. “I thought I saw your aunt’s truck outside!” He clapped a hand jovially on Hope’s shoulder in greeting. “Where is that _canche loca_ anyway? I need more business cards.”

“Just me this evening, I’m afraid. But there may be some business cards in the truck. Aunt Freya usually keeps some cards in the glove box though, I think. I’ll take a look before we head out.” Hope said, already edging back towards their cart. 

She knew from experience Mr. Castillo was a talker and she and Josie would be here all night if she let him get going. He never met a customer he didn't want to spend twenty minutes chatting with. Angling her body to stay between Josie and Mr. Castillo, Hope tried to signal Josie discreetly with her hand to look busy and not available for conversation. It was a lot to ask for from one hand gesture, though, and in the end, they were no match for the friendly proprietor.

“ _¡Me estás diciendo bochinche!_ ” He chided, his smile never dropping as he peered around Hope to greet Josie. “Your aunt may not be here, but you did bring _someone_ with you. Who is this beautiful young lady you are trying to keep from me? Ay, no, I have kids; I know when you young people are being sneaky.”

Hope sighed inwardly. So much for that briefly held hope of escape. “Mr. Castillo, this is my friend Josie. Josie, this is Mr. Castillo. He owns this place; best plant stock in the county.”

“Ah, I see someone is aiming for a discount tonight with the flattery. You know me too well, _niña_ ,” He winked at Hope before extending a hand to Josie warmly. “It is very nice to meet you, Miss Josie. What brings you to my nursery tonight?” He peered into the cart expectantly.

Hope gave Josie a discreet shake of the head, which Josie saw and promptly ignored. “We’re planting a raised flower bed in my backyard!” She smiled winningly at Mr. Castillo. “Hope was just about to show me the live plants.”

“A raised flower bed, you say,” he stroked his chin, looking at the bags of soil in their cart. “Do you know how big it will be?”

“Um,” Josie looked uncertain. “Medium-sized?” 

Mr. Castillo laughed a big booming laugh. “ _Ay, sí, claro._ Well, at least you did not give me the answer in _feet_. You Americans and your feets and inches, I will never understand. A yard is a yard, not a measurement, no? _Claro_.” He shook his head mainly talking to himself, then gestured to the soil stacked on the floor. “Would you say your ‘medium-sized’ flower bed was bigger or smaller than this pallet here?”

Hope and Josie looked thoughtfully at the plastic pallet on the floor. “Maybe one and a half of these long, and half of one wide?” Josie answered slowly, looking at Hope for agreement. Hope nodded, shrugging. She had truthfully been paying more attention to Josie than the flowerbed. 

Mr. Castillo nodded, too. “And how deep?”

Hope held up her forearm as a ruler, fingers outstretched. “Maybe from my elbow to my finger?”

Mr. Castillo continued nodding as he made some mental calculations and looked back over their cart. “I see you have a good mixture of potting soil and topsoil, someone has done their homework!” He smiled warmly at Josie. Josie preened under the praise.

Turning back to the cart, Mr. Castillo stroked his chin and said, “ _Pero_ , if it is as big as you describe, I think you will need another bag of soil. Not this stuff, though,” he removed a bag from their cart. “That is the brand we recommend fancy clients and landscapers _chuchos_ who are too good to chat with old Mr. Castillo,” he winked knowingly at Hope then picked up two much more plain bags. “Here, this soil is just as good for the plants but cheaper.”

“The plants will never know the difference, trust me,” he grinned, patting the plastic bag affectionately. “This is what Mrs. Castillo uses in her flower beds herself.”

“Mrs. Castillo has the most beautiful flowers,” Hope added for Josie’s benefit a little unnecessarily. 

Mr. and Mrs. Castillo employed ML&L to do their yard, and while her uncle was still working with them, it had been a point of pride for him to be the one to mow it. It had since been passed off to one of the more senior teams, but Hope still remembered how bright and vibrant and lush all of the various plants had been. 

Mr. Castillo beamed proudly at the compliment. “ _¡Cabal!_ Again with the flattery! The discount, it is yours, you already know this. And of course, Mrs. Castillo has the most beautiful plants,” he declared. “She gets all of her stuff right here!” He swept a hand expansively over his property. “Now, tell me what are you putting in the flowerbed? Surely it is more than just dirt, no?”

So that was how Josie and Hope ended up shopping with the owner of the shop as their own personal guide.

While she could admit Mr. Castillo _was_ beyond helpful and clearly knew far more about their project than they did and he _was_ truly very nice and funny and while she _did_ enjoy watching he and Josie go back and forth discussing the flowerbed, Hope was nonetheless relieved when another matter called his attention away twenty minutes later. Call her selfish and self-serving, but she was happy to get back to spending some time alone with Josie. 

“Wow,” Josie said, shaking her head and chuckling as Mr. Castillo animatedly greeted another customer. “He may be the friendliest man I’ve ever met.”

“My aunt thinks half the reason he opened this place was so he’d have an excuse to talk to people,” Hope said before biting her lip and looking doubtfully at the cart, full of various flowers and herbs, some of which were different than those that Josie had originally intended on getting. “Are you okay with the tweaks and things he suggested? He can be a little...much sometimes.” 

Josie bumped her elbow, drawing Hope's attention away from the plants. “Yes,” she grinned reassuringly. “He had some good suggestions.” Then, Josie tilted her head and that ember of a challenge Hope had seen the first day on Josie’s porch flared to life in her eyes. “I know I look like a softy, but I _can_ handle myself. I’m not a total pushover.” 

Hope didn’t know if the metal in Josie’s tone was from Hope’s comment alone or a lifetime’s worth of similar ones, but Hope nodded all the same. “You’re right,” she said seriously. 

She was beginning to see how Josie had survived both dating a girl like Penelope _and_ living with a sister like Lizzie. She had some backbone and bite hiding in there under all that sweetness. Hope liked it. A lot. She found herself wondering what else Josie might be hiding.

Josie’s jaw relaxed a little at Hope’s easy agreement. They walked in easy silence along the perimeter of the outdoor plant section, taking the scenic route to the register. Josie’s list was in her pocket, every item crossed off. 

Josie paused as they came to the crape myrtles. “I love these,” she said softly and Hope watched as she touched one of the tiny buds, careful not to damage the delicate, crinkled petals. 

“Me, too," Hope said just as softly. She stepped away from the cart and joined Josie, looking at the various colors on display. "Oh, wow," Hope said stepping closer to one row. "I don't think I've ever seen a crape myrtle that's this color before." The flowers were a deep ruby so rich and vivid they looked fake. She reached out to touch one just to make sure.

"Wow," Josie breathed beside her in awe. "The ones I usually see are pinks or whites." 

"But never this." Hope trailed a finger reverently along one spindly branch.

"Why don’t we get one for the yard?” 

“Really?” Hope looked up, her fingers paused on the thin bark, but Josie's eyes were on the little tree before them. 

Josie nodded, "Yeah." She smiled when Hope laughed, her gaze sliding over to Hope's warmly for just a moment before returning to appraise the tree. “Where should we put it?”

Hope thought for a minute. “What about by the side gate?” 

“So that you’ll see how it's doing every time you come by?” Josie smirked. “Don’t think I can manage a plant without your supervision?”

Hope laughed. “No, I’m sure you’re more than capable. I was just thinking that because it’s on the west side of the house, it’d be sunny enough. Plus there’s nothing else over there at the moment.” She smiled and added, “And also maybe it’s just so pretty I wouldn’t mind walking past it every Tuesday.” 

“Every Tuesday until school starts at least, huh?” 

“Yeah," Hope agreed slowly, aware of how forlorn their words suddenly sounded. She fiddled with the plastic bucket holding the tree. "But there's always Thanksgiving and Christmas break." Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Josie watching her. "Maybe," she swallowed, "Maybe I could come mow your yard for old time's sake and check on it then?" 

In a fit of bravery, she looked over at Josie and stopped still. Josie’s lip was tucked between her teeth, her eyes warm and inscrutable. Hope felt like her chest was being held up to an MRI viewer. Her heart and all her soft bits she tried so hard to keep under wraps now on display under Josie's gaze. Hope didn’t move.

“Or maybe you could just come over," Josie said, eyes fathomless and dark. "No lawnmower. Just you."

Hope swallowed hard. “Okay.”

"Okay," Josie repeated, voice steady, eyes still on Hope beside her.

"What- What color do you want?”

“This one,” Josie said, reaching out to place a hand on the rim of the red crape myrtle's bucket, so close to Hope's own she could feel the heat.

xxxx

As they stood in line at the register, cart loaded up with bags of soil, various flowers, and a few little gardening tools for Josie to have when Hope wasn’t around, Hope turned and saw Josie running a finger down the tiny trunk of the crepe myrtle. “We came here for the flowerbed, but that looks like it's gonna be your favorite purchase.”

“Sometimes the best things in life are surprises,” Josie said wisely. She flashed Hope a smirk over the top of the branches, “Learned that from a fortune cookie.”

Hope laughed, “And here I thought I was in the presence of the next great American Confucius.”

Josie smiled but didn’t look away from the delicate flowers in front of her. “Do you know what crepe myrtles symbolize, Hope?”

Hope wracked her brain. “No, I don’t think I do. Something good I hope.” When Josie still didn’t look up, she asked. “Do you?”

Josie waited so long Hope thought she hadn’t heard the question. Then, finally, she nodded. “Yeah.”

When Josie didn't elaborate, Hope was about to ask what their meaning was then, genuinely curious now, but she didn't get the chance.

“Excuse me? Miss? You're next in line,” the cashier called out. Hope turned to see the woman was talking to them. The customer in front of them was long gone, Hope too caught up in Josie to have noticed. 

Hope jumped and scuttled forward with their cart, Josie already apologizing to the woman for making her wait. In the minor chaos, Hope forgot her question.

xxxx

Josie had been quiet, almost contemplative, after checking out and loading up the car. Hope figured she was game-planning how she wanted to lay out the flower bed. But now, as they were passing through the square, the younger girl perked up.

“Hey. Do you want a milkshake?” She asked, turning in her seat to look at Hope.

“Are you really asking me, Queen of Snow Cones, if I want to cheat on my preferred cold dessert?”

“No, I’m asking you, Queen of Snow Cones, if you want to broaden your horizons.” 

Hope pretended to mull the idea over, but she was already flipping her blinker in the direction of the milkshake shoppe coming up. “I guess I could do that,” she sighed before pinning Josie with a grave look as they pulled into the parking lot. “But only in the name of diplomacy.”

“What a wise ruler," Josie cooed. "Now come on, I owe her highness a milkshake for all of her help.”

xxxx

“Dad, I’m planting a tree in the yard.”

A man, Alaric Saltzman, Hope absently remembered, leaned out of the kitchen. “A tree?”

Hope held the bucket holding the crape myrtle up so he could see it through the open front door.

“Oh,” Mr. Saltzman looked at the small tree. He scratched his beard. “Well, okay. Have… fun… I guess? You know, when I was your age I--”

“Dad!" Josie cut him off. "I love you, but please do not traumatize us with your tales of adolescent debauchery."

“I see all of those AP classes paid off,” he said, blithely ignoring the rebuke in favor of smiling proudly at his daughter. 

“We’ll be in the side yard,” Josie said, closing the door. 

But not before Mr. Saltzman could yell out, “We used to steal beers and take them--” The door swung closed on him and the rest of his sentence. 

Hope looked between Josie, whose hands were squishing her cheeks in exaggerated dismay, and the door. “He used to be a cop?”

“You can see why it's a past-tense kinda thing, can’t you?”

xxxx

Mr. Saltzman whistled appreciatively when he came out and saw their finished work.

“Well, I’ll be. It’s a tree.”

Josie sighed, head in her hands. “Dad, do you really have to be such a- such a dad sometimes.” When she looked back up, there was a small smear of dirt across the bridge of her nose and right cheek.

In response, Mr. Saltzman threw an arm around Josie’s shoulders and pulled her into a hug. “Yes,” he said over her groaning. Then he turned to Hope and squinted in the fading daylight, tilting his head. “We haven’t met before.”

Hope tore her gaze from the endearing smudge on Josie's face, looked her dad in the eye, and stepped forward, shoulders consciously straight. “No, sir, we haven’t,” she held out her hand. “I’m Hope Mikaelson. I--”

“Do our yard, that’s right!” Mr. Saltzman said, taking Hope’s hand eagerly. “You do excellent work, by the way. I called your boss the other day and told her as much. No wonder these flowers look so nice, honey. You had a professional helping you,” he squeezed Josie under the arm still over her shoulders, then turned back to Hope. “Alaric Saltzman,” he said, somehow still shaking her hand. Hope wondered if that was just a Saltzman thing.

Mr. Saltzman finally ended the handshake and Hope sighed in relief. That was pretty painless as far as parental meetings went. After Sheriff Machado, she was still, quite understandably, a little skittish. Maybe things wouldn't be so bad with Mr. Saltz--

“So, you come over here every Tuesday afternoon while I’m out of the house and befriend my daughter?”

Oh shit. Josie’s eyes were as big as saucers. Hope assumed hers weren't far off from that as well.

“Uh,” Hope stalled. She hadn’t been expecting that. And while it was technically all true, it sounded… Well, it sounded suspect when Mr. Saltzman phrased it in that particular manner. “I mean--”

Mr. Saltzman laughed. “I’m just playing with you. Come by any time! I’m just glad Josie and Lizzie are making friends.”

Josie elbowed her dad in the gut. “We’re not gonna have any friends at all if you keep scaring them like that.”

“Sure you will! Or else they aren’t--”

Josie cut in, “ _Really friends to begin with_ , yes, I know.” 

He squeezed her proudly as Josie repeated what was clearly a common refrain of his. Then, without preamble, he asked, “Hope, how do you feel about cards?”

“I don’t gamble if that’s what you’re asking,” Hope said slowly.

“Hah! No. But good answer,” he nodded appreciatively. “I've been making the girls play this card game called Monopoly Deal with me this summer, in a little forced family time before they flee the nest. Would you like to come play with us?”

Hope hesitated. Family time sounded… Serious. And while that wasn't a deterrent for Hope herself, it might be too much for Josie, so soon. “I don’t want to impose or anything…”

“Nonsense,” Mr. Saltzman boomed. “I will even offer to let you come inside and enjoy some air conditioning while we do it. Unlike my horribly rude daughter here who forced you to stay outside.”

“Oh, I wanted to help,” Hope said mainly to reassure Josie.

Josie smiled then added quickly, “You don’t have to play if you have other stuff to do.” Josie rolled her lips into her mouth in that nervous way of her Hope had been noticing more frequently. “But it is actually pretty fun. More fun than Dad makes it sound.”

"In that case..." Maybe Hope joining them for a little family card game wasn't a problem with Josie after all. "Let’s play some Monopoly Deal.”

Surprisingly, it was Mr. Saltzman who cheered the loudest at her acquiescence. He ran around to the backdoor to get the cards shuffled and dealt.

“Did I just make a mistake?” Hope whispered to Josie as they followed at a much more reasonable, sedate pace.

“Only if you planned on leaving this house with any respect for my dad,” she whispered right back.

From inside the house, they could hear Mr. Saltzman call out, "Come on, girls, time is a-wastin'!"

xxxx

Monopoly Deal, it turned out, was much more fun than regular, board-game Monopoly. By the time Hope realized the time and started saying her goodbyes, she'd gotten the hang of it and was nearly as good as Josie.

Josie had been right. About how fun the game was and about losing respect for her dad. When he won the last game, almost an hour and a half after they started, he threw the cards into the air in celebration, almost knocking over his own drink in the process. Hope was beginning to see where Lizzie's dramatics might have come from.

"And with that--" Josie said, expression pained, cards still falling off the table onto the floor.

"--I think it's time I head home," Hope picked up the cue and finished for her.

Josie walked her to the door and hung back as Hope slipped her sneakers back on. “So..." Josie began shyly when Hope straightened. "Thanks again. For everything tonight." She played with her fingers. "The gardening stuff and putting up with my embarrassing dad."

“Of course,” Hope smiled. 

There was a beat, Hope unsure what the protocol would be, a wave or a side hug or what, before Josie stepped forward and made the decision for her. 

She kissed Hope on the cheek and Hope stopped breathing. “I’ll see you Tuesday?” Josie asked softly, still close enough for Hope to feel her breath on her face coasting over the still-tingling skin Josie's lips had just touched. 

Without meaning to, Hope brought a hand up to touch that same place. Then, realizing how dorky that probably looked, she dropped her hand and straightened, cheeks burning in the dark foyer. “You got it,” she finally managed to respond.

Josie smiled softly. Hope felt her body swaying closer.

As if on cue, Mr. Saltzman appeared behind Josie. “I’ll walk Hope out, honey, I wanted to discuss some shovels with her real quick.”

Josie and Hope’s eyebrows both wrinkled in confusion, but then the front door was opening and closing, and Hope was alone on the front porch with Mr. Saltzman.

“I, uh, don’t really use shovels all that mu--” She started to say, but Mr. Saltzman cut her off.

“I used to be a cop,” he said, voice as dead and dangerous as it had been earlier. His eyes bored into Hope’s own. Oh. _That_ kind of shovel talk. “Did Josie mention that?”

“Yes, sir,” Hope nodded, unsure of where this was going, but it couldn't be anywhere good based on how hard he was looking into her face right now. 

She briefly flashed back to the last time she'd talked to the parent of a romantic interest and paled. This was a significantly better scenario than what had gone down at the Machado Residence, but still... Hope knew better than to expect the best. She focused back on the present and _this_ parent standing intimidatingly in front of her.

“Now, a lot of it was bullshit," Mr. Saltzman was saying, "but _one_ of the things that I have kept from my days on the force,” he let the implication hang just long enough for Hope’s brain to supply a variety of terrifying items he could have retained, “is my ability to tell when someone is lying.”

Oh. 

Well, it may not have been anything as physically threatening as a gun like Hope had been thinking, but that was still kind of scary.

His stare somehow intensified. She straightened.

“Now,” he said. “My daughter just got out of a bad relationship with a not very nice girl and has only just recently gotten over it. So, I need to ask you something, Hope Mikaelson: Are you going to hurt my daughter?”

Hope felt it was important to set the record straight before Mr. Saltzman could get too geared up. “Josie and I are just friends," she said, hoping to stave off the inevitable threats. Better to let him save his material for an actual boyfriend or girlfriend, probably.

“That may be true at the moment," he conceded, "but I saw the way you looked at Josie tonight, and more importantly, I know my daughter. So,” he said levelly, “I’m going to ask you one more time: Are you going to hurt my daughter?”

“No, sir,” Hope answered honestly. She’d rather run over her own foot with the new Lawn Eater 3500 than willfully hurt Josie. She thought about telling Mr. Saltzman this, but he was already nodding solemnly, apparently satisfied. 

“Good,” he said. “That’s what I thought.”

Hope breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn’t lied nor had she been planning on lying, but knowing she’d passed his test still felt good.

“How old are you, Hope?”

“Oh,” the interrogation was not over after all. “Twenty. Uh, sir.”

“Twenty,” he repeated, hand on his chin. “So you won’t be getting my daughter drunk, will you?”

“No, sir.”

“Pregnant?”

She did a double-take. “Definitely not, sir.”

“Good, good,” he nodded, hands on his hips now. “Never want to assume on these things. We did a whole workshop on gender presentation at the school last semester, so. Not trying to step on any toes, just making sure all the dad bases are covered. Josie is eighteen and can of course do whatever she wants with her body, but I would like to strongly suggest you are both too young for kids.”

He nodded again firmly as if Hope wasn't also squarely in the same camp of belief.

“I admire the fact that you work in the lawn care industry," he continued, evidently still not finished. "Tough mix of manual labor and customer service. I assume you’ve learned plenty of valuable lessons during your tenure there?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Things like responsibility. The importance of doing a job well. Knowing what the customer wants to hear so that they’ll stop talking and let you get back to work.” 

Hope had been nodding along until he got to this last one. His hands were still on his hips, but he was smiling now, a twinkle in his eye that Hope had seen in Josie’s a time or two. He was definitely messing with her now. This she could handle. She lived with Freya and Keelin after all.

"Yep," she agreed, smiling with him. "Many valuable skills with _lots_ of good real-world applications.”

“Good,” he nodded one final time. “Now. Because I’m a father who has been told by his lovely daughters that he is annoyingly overprotective and it is dark outside, I am going to stand here and watch you get into your car so I know you are safe.”

“Uh. Thank you,” she chuckled and stepped down off the porch. She turned around at the foot of the steps. “Uh, for watching out and for the card game. I had a good time. So, thank you for that.”

He smiled. “I meant it when I said you’re welcome here anytime. Make sure you text Josie when you get home so she doesn’t worry.”

“Oh, I, uh- I don’t…”

Mr. Saltzman’s face was a lesson in character acting. First, he was confused. Then, Hope's meaning dawned on him. Then, finally, he let out a disbelieving laugh. “You don’t have her number? Oh, Hope," he tutted. "And Lizzie and Josie say _I’m_ slow off the block.” 

He shook his head sadly and Hope pursed her lips, beyond indignant at the suggestion. She wasn't slow when it came to dating, she just hadn’t _needed_ Josie’s number. They’d made their plans in person and, and… 

Ok, maybe she should ask for Josie’s number next time they saw each other. It would be nice to be able to regularly talk to her outside of Tuesday afternoons.

Hope didn’t realize she had frozen in the walkway until Mr. Saltzman chuckled goodnaturedly. “Good night, Hope.”

“Night, Mr. Saltzman,” she replied absently, already thinking of a plan to remedy this situation.

xxxx

When she got home, Hope called MG. 

“So, I met Josie’s dad tonight.”

“Rick!” MG singsonged cheerfully.

“ _Rick_?” She laughed. “A nickname already? Someone sure is chummy.” 

“Can’t help it if the man has good taste in his daughter’s boyfriends.”

“‘His daughter’s boyfriends,’” Hope repeated slowly. “That sure was a clunky way of saying that you have finally officially sealed the deal.”

“Yep,” he said proudly, popping the ‘p’. Hope could just imagine him puffing his chest to stand that much taller.

“Well, good for you, Milton,” she said genuinely. "Wait are you with her right now?" 

"Yep," he said in the same exact way.

"Dude! Why the hell did you answer your phone then?!"

"Because you're my good friend and--"

Suddenly, Lizzie could be heard loud and clear yelling through the line, startling Hope into almost dropping her phone. "--and because I told him I needed to know how your date with my sister went!"

“Not a date, but it went well," Hope chuckled. "Oh, but while you're here, would you please let Josie know I made it home safely?”

“What?" MG piped back in. "Dude, why don’t you just let her know yourself?”

Hope pursed her lips and was silent. 

The truth dawned on Lizzie first. “Oh my god, are you serious?" She cackled not unlike an evil witch. "You still haven’t asked her for her number? Amazing.” 

Hope dragged her hand down her face. Yeah, she really needed to do something about this. Getting teased by two-thirds of the Saltzman family just was not tenable.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> walks in 5 months late with an iced coffee and an unedited update. "sup, guys. d'I miss anything?"

Hope stopped what she was doing. Half bent over, arm still extended to snag one of the last tennis balls remaining in the yard, she furrowed her brow in thought.

“Mrs. J?” she called to the woman on the back porch. 

Mrs. Jefferson looked up from her word-find puzzle. “Hmm? Yes, dear?”

Hope straightened and dropped the tennis ball into the bucket she was holding. “Do you know how old this crape myrtle is?” She gestured to the tree that occupied a place of prominence in Mrs. Jefferson’s backyard. 

She had been mowing the Jefferson place since she first came on board the company and, truthfully, she’d never given the crape myrtle more than a passing consideration as she worked around its many trunks. Usually, her attention was focused on Mrs. Jefferson's gigantic, slobbery dog, William, or William’s millions of toys that typically were strewn about the yard. 

Today, though. It was all she could see. She picked up a half-chewed rope, shook it absentmindedly at William, and looked again at the sweeping, bloom-laden branches. 

On the porch, Mrs. Jefferson had put down her puzzle and sat back in her wicker chair. “Let’s see,” she said thoughtfully. “My Henry and I moved here in 1978 so that would make that crape myrtle… Over 40 years old.” 

The older woman’s voice took on a faraway quality as she looked off over the back porch railing. “My. I can’t believe it’s really been that long.” 

“Wow.”

William, mistaking the whistle of appreciation as being for him, bounced excitedly at her feet. Hope petted his blocky head, but her mind was still stuck on what Mrs. J had just told her. She had no idea these trees could live that long. They always seemed so delicate; more like a flower than a proper tree.

Snagging the last toy in the yard before William could get his teeth on it, Hope dropped it in her bucket and made her way to the porch. Mrs. Jefferson was still lost in a memory, smiling fondly at the tree, so, because Hope knew the only thing Mrs. Jefferson liked to talk about more than her grandchildren in Charleston was her late husband, Hope asked, “You and Mr. Jefferson planted it when you moved in?”

“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Jefferson answered, voice strengthening as she looked back at Hope. “You know, the crape myrtle is supposed to symbolize good luck in love and marriage. I wasn’t taking any chances with my Henry and me.”

“Oh.” Hope blinked, nearly missed a step up the porch. “I uh, I didn’t… I didn’t know that. About crape myrtles.”

“Most people don’t. But that’s why I had my Henry plant this as soon as we moved in. We hadn’t even finished unpacking the kitchen. We were drinking out of bowls and eating off baking sheets and I had that poor man out here planting a tree.” Mrs. Jefferson shook her head with a laugh. 

Hope smiled. “Really, now?”

“Oh, yes. Had him wrapped around my finger, I did,” Mrs. Jefferson held up a dark, arthritic finger with a twinkle in her eye causing Hope to laugh. The gray-haired woman sighed. “He was always so good to me.”

“Well,” Hope said softly. “It’s a beautiful tree.” 

Mrs. Jefferson hummed in agreement and Hope put the basket of dog toys on the porch next to her wicker chair. 

“Actually,” Hope started. She had to clear her throat when Mrs. Jefferson’s brown eyes landed on hers. She was suddenly self-conscious after what the older woman had just told her. “Uh, my friend and I just planted one in her yard.” 

Mrs. Jefferson looked at Hope with the smile only a grandmother could smile. “Is that so?” 

Hope scratched the back of William’s neck to keep from fidgeting as she asked, “Any tips?” 

It was just Mrs. Jefferson, after all. It wasn’t like Josie was here watching her. In support, William gave her an encouraging lick to the sweaty skin of her kneecap and collapsed happily onto her shoe. 

Mrs. Jefferson was still giving her that knowing smile. “I think we put coffee ground in with the soil at first,” she said, leaning back into her chair and patting William’s furry rump.

“Coffee grounds,” Hope repeated, mind already whirring over just how much coffee grounds she could come up with in the next twenty-four hours before seeing Josie. She nodded and, dislodging William’s barrel-chest from its perch on her shoe with as much care as possible, she stepped down off the porch. “Got it.” 

“Oh, and, Hope?” Mrs. Jefferson called.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“We also made sure to put in plenty of love, too.”

There was no mistaking that twinkle in Mrs. Jefferson’s eye. She bought the ‘friends’ line just as much as everyone else. 

“Right.” Hope stumbled to the lawnmower. 

“Of course,” she muttered to herself. “ _Love_. What the hell, did I get myself into?” 

Just before the motor turned over, she could hear William on the porch give a luxurious yawn. It was nice to know _someone_ wasn’t concerned by this turn of events.

xxxx

“I brought coffee grounds!” Hope announced somewhat frantically when Josie swung the door open the next day. 

“I... See that.” Josie stepped down onto the porch, raising an eyebrow at the ziploc bag Hope was brandishing like a report card she was proud of. 

Hope gripped the bag tighter.

“You know,” Josie said, a smile impossibly soft on her lips. “Typically girls like the stuff that’s _made_ from this stuff though, right?”

Apparently deciding now was the opportune time to pipe in, MG yelled from the curb, “I tried telling her that!”

Hope wanted to rewind to three hours ago when she thought this was a good idea and first put the bag in the cab of the truck. This seemed exponentially less strange yesterday when Mrs. Jefferson was talking about it. 

She ducked her head for a moment, grateful for the baseball cap she was wearing. What a smart idea that had been this morning. Maybe the bill would conceal her blush as she hurried to explain why she was waving a bag of compost in her crush’s face. 

“It’s for the crape myrtle. Mrs. Jefferson suggested that we, uh, that we add it to the soil?” 

Josie’s smile grew several shades brighter. She closed the door behind her and stepped fully onto the porch and into Hope’s personal space. 

“Well in that case,” she said, taking the ziploc bag from Hope with a smile. “Lead the way.”

xxxx

As they set to work, Hope found herself sighing in relief. She’d been thinking of nothing else since her conversation with Mrs. J yesterday. Ensuring the success of this one little tree for some reason suddenly seemed unbearably important.

Working together, it only took a few minutes for the girls to get the grounds mixed in with the soil. They made a good team, she and Josie. Hope tried not to read too much into the swell of emotion in her chest as they worked together smoothly, Hope poking holes in the dirt, mindful of the roots, Josie just as carefully pouring in the coffee grounds.

She’d noticed it the other night when they had planted the flowerbed together, of course. But after her talk with Mrs. Jefferson, the whole thing seemed… So much more intimate than it had been a few nights ago. Like they were doing more than just digging quietly in the dirt together…

Hope shook her head. The July heat was clearly getting to her if she was getting sentimental about _dirt_ of all things.

She allowed a quick glance at the girl beside her. Josie was carefully, almost lovingly, patting down the upturned soil around the base of the little crape myrtle. Maybe there was something more to this than she’d originally thought. 

Josie had brought a trowel from the garage, but once the bag of grounds was upended, the hand tools had been abandoned in favor of just plain old hands. The root structure still seemed too delicate for anything but careful fingers. 

_Or_ , her brain offered as her eyes snagged on the sight of Josie’s forearms, lightly freckled and flexing as she worked. Further down, Josie’s fingers dug readily into the dark soil. Yeah, or maybe she was just _really gay_.

“Jesus,” Hope muttered under her breath.

“Hmm?” 

Hope’s eyes popped open and she quickly lurched forward to help Josie pat the rest of the soil back down. “Nothing,” she said quickly. “Just hot.”

Which. To be fair. Wasn’t even a lie. Hope applauded herself for her quick thinking.

Beside her, Josie seemed to be completely oblivious to Hope’s double meaning as she hummed in agreement. “Yeah,” the younger girl said, wiping at her forehead with the back of her hand as she leaned back on her heels. “D’you and MG wanna come in for a popsicle before you guys get started out here?”

Hope looked up to answer but was distracted by the small smear of either dirt across Josie’s brow. “Oh,” she laughed. “You got a little...” She gestured to her own forehead.

“Oh, shit,” Josie swiped at her face blindly and managed to smudge it more in the process. Now there was dirt on the outside of her brow bone, too. “Did I get it?”

Hope grinned. “No.”

Josie pouted.

“Here. Let me?” She pulled her bandana out of her backpocket and leaned closer, holding it up for Josie to see. “This early in the day, this bandana is almost assuredly only slightly gross.”

“Charming,” Josie said dryly. The eyebrow she raised only highlighted the soil -- or was it coffee grounds, Hope couldn’t tell; she found herself helplessly charmed all the same. Whatever her concerns were for vis a vis the dubious cleanliness of Hope’s bandana, Josie turned and offered her face more fully to Hope’s attention. 

“Only the best for our clients,” Hope said, running solely on bravado. Josie rolled her eyes and Hope wiped her hands on her own shirt. With two careful fingers to Josie’s chin, she tilted Josie’s face for better access. 

She could feel Josie’s exhale against her fingers and Hope clenched her jaw to keep from saying something embarrassing. A whole wealth of mortifying comments sprang to mind as she folded her bandana and carefully, so, so carefully, rubbed the dirt off Josie’s brow. 

_‘your skin is so soft.’_

And, _‘wow, your eyes are so pretty.’_

And, _‘I’ve been thinking about kissing you for weeks now and I just may vibrate out of my skin with the wanting of it right now.’_

On and on, her mind yammered. It was a wonder her hands didn’t shake from the force of keeping it all in.

“You ok?” Josie’s soft voice jarred Hope from her thoughts as the brow she was rubbing crinkled in concern. “Your eyes just got really intense there for a second.”

“Oh.” 

_Jesus_. Well, this was embarrassing. 

Hope fumbled for an excuse. “Yes. Yes, sorry. Just, uh, kinda spaced out there for a moment.” She bit her lip and leaned back, made a show of appraising her handiwork. “There. Good as new,” she smiled. Hoped her expression was more appropriately casual.

Josie smiled back. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure.”

And, _oh_. Now that they were making eye contact, they really were quite close to one another, weren’t they?

If she wanted to, she could count every single one of her dark eyelashes. It was becoming increasingly hard to remember why that wasn’t a good idea, actually.

Her left hand hadn’t apparently gotten the memo that they were finished. Her thumb and forefinger still rested lightly against the warm curve of her chin. The pad of her thumb seemed to fit perfectly in the divot there and she could feel her breath ghosting across the back of her hand. 

Became hyperaware of that breath coasting down through the peach fuzzy hairs on the back of her hand. Could feel them standing at attention.

It was the only movement between them. Josie was so still under her fingers. So still. It was almost… Almost like she was waiting?

Hope’s mind replayed the comfortable, almost instinctual way Josie had tilted her head at the touch of Hope’s fingers on her skin. Just the slightest pressure and Josie had moved for her. Had moved exactly as Hope had directed her. Had let Hope touch her and position her without question. Because she trusted Hope to touch her. Trusted her fingers on her skin.

It was like a lightning bolt, this. So sudden and surprising, the thought struck the surface of Hope’s thoughts with electric clarity. 

If Josie trusted her to touch her like this, in what other ways might she trust Hope to touch her? 

The question burned, scorched everything else to ash until all Hope could think about was how willing and pliant Josie just might be under her fingertips. 

Jesus, that was a dangerous thought to be having in the middle of the afternoon in broad daylight. Good lord, Hope needed to get a hold of herself and fast. They hadn’t even kissed yet and Hope was already skipping merrily ahead to-- 

Hope jerked her gaze back up from where it had fallen to trace along Josie’s jawline. 

For a brief, sharp, and crystallized moment, Hope was terrified. She was certain that Josie had again seen it all in her eyes. If Josie had thought Hope’s eyes looked intense earlier, there was no telling what they looked like now after, after _that_.

Hope braced herself to be met with disgust or at the very least shock at having gotten so egregiously ahead of herself. Instead, all she saw was Josie’s eyelashes. 

_Oh._

Hope’s mouth went dry. 

Because Josie wasn’t watching Hope’s eyes make a mad, skittering dash back from the gutter. No, Josie had maybe? hopefully? missed that premature detour altogether because she had been too busy looking at Hope’s lips. 

The already warm July air felt even closer between them, the sun hot on their back and Josie’s presence just as hot beside her. _So this is what heatstroke feels like. Interesting._

As much as she had been grateful for the protective cover of her baseball cap just a few minutes before, Hope immediately wished she hadn’t worn it at all today. What a horrible fucking idea that had been. The bill of the hat, sticking out from her forehead as it was, most certainly was keeping them further apart. 

Briefly, she entertained the fanciful idea of somehow casually whipping it off her head without drawing Josie’s attention. 

Josie’s eyes lifted to Hope’s. 

Fuck the hat. They could work around the hat. What was a hat in the face of a girl like this? The hat was nothing. With Josie looking at her like that, lip between her teeth, chin still held between Hope’s thumb and forefinger. Hope could find a way to maneuver around a goddamn sombrero.

Hope angled her head subtly. 

Josie mirrored the move. 

Hope’s lips parted. 

The lawnmower cranked roaringly to life in the front yard. 

Josie lurched back and Hope, equally startled, but considerably less smooth, promptly fell into the dirt at the sudden noise. Whatever mood they’d been building between themselves shattered just like the back windshield of her Uncle Elijah’s truck the time Sebastian hit a rock with the weed eater into it.

“Oh my god, are you ok?” Josie asked around a laugh as she pulled Hope to her feet.

“Yeah, yeah.” Hope brushed her hands off on the back of her shorts and glared daggers in the direction of her coworker. “MG, might not be after that little stunt, though.”

xxxx

Hope threw herself into the task of mowing the Saltzman’s yard. It was a heroic undertaking given the fact most of her brain was still stuck by the gate under the crape myrtle where Josie had seemed to have been giving her the all-clear to kiss her? 

_Or_. 

Hope quibbled for the hundredth time in half an hour. Maybe Josie had just been waiting for Hope to say something. 

Maybe Hope was reading into things. 

Meanwhile. On planet earth, Hope veered around the flower box only narrowly avoiding smashing the mower straight into the wooden box frame she herself had helped plant not but a few days ago. 

Christ on a cracker, _maybe_ Hope needed to think less about Josie’s eyes and more about the actual mowing of the lawn. This was becoming an occupational hazard. Josie wasn’t even present and she was posing a danger. 

Before she could do any damage to the Saltzman’s lawn decor, Hope cut off the mower and dragged it manfully back over to the gate. When she came back with the weed eater, Josie was standing by the pool looking uncertain with a water bottle in each hand.

Hope approached the other girl cautiously. Maybe Josie was going to tell her to kindly cease and desist with the heart eyes. Friends was one thing, longing one-sided eye-fucking decidedly another.

There must be a merciful God somewhere, though, because before Hope could twist herself into any more painful, regretful knots, Josie spoke. And, further mercies: it was not at all what Hope was expecting. 

“So, Fridays are usually lighter days for you MG work-wise, right?” She asked, holding one of the bottles out for Hope to take.

“Oh.” Hope took the drink dumbly. “Yeah, usually?” Where was this going?

“Cool, cool,” Josie tucked her hair behind her ear and bobbed her head. “Because we’re uh, Lizzie and I are throwing a party. And we’d really like you and MG to come. So if we had it on a Friday night… You guys probably wouldn’t miss too much, right?”

Then, Josie’s eyes darted up to check Hope’s reaction. The sudden naked worry in her brown eyes startled Hope.

“Oh. No, that would probably work, yeah.”

Grinning, Josie nodded and ducked her head. “Cool.” Her bangs fell loose from behind her ear and Hope had to fight the urge to push them back from her face. 

“You know.” The smile on Hope’s lips relaxed, the heaviness from earlier wearing off in the face of a favored and comfortable pastime of hers: making fun of MG. “You guys don’t have to plan around our schedule. MG would probably quit altogether if it meant missing out on socializing with Lizzie.”

“And what about you?”

Hope rocked back on her heels. “Guess it depends on how good the party is going to be.”

“ _Well_ ,” Josie drawled. “This year it’s going to be Hawaiian themed? Lizzie’s got the tiki torches and the hula skirts all picked out.”

“Oh, wow,” Hope whistled. “Why didn’t you say that earlier? I’ll put my two weeks in as soon as we get back to the garage.”

xxxx

The following Tuesday, it was so hot even the mosquitoes were lethargic. There was rain in the forecast and the humidity draped like a wet blanket over Hope and MG as they sprawled on the open tailgate. Even the shade of the Saltzman’s gigantic oak tree isn’t helping. 

Hope splashed her bandana with water and re-tied it around her neck. Nope. Still balls hot.

“I hate this job.”

“Can you ask your aunt to think about switching over to mowing indoor yards next summer?”

“At this point, it’s the only humane option.”

A door opened in the middle distance, but neither Mikaelson Landscaping employees could be troubled to notice.

“If you guys are done frying out there, why don’t you come in for a popsicle?” 

They swiveled their heads slowly towards the voice. Lizzie and Josie were standing at the edge of the porch watching them.

“What type of popsicle?” Hope called suspiciously.

“Will there be air conditioning?” MG added hopefully.

“Yes,” came the chorused response.

“Maybe this job isn’t so bad after all,” Hope mused as they peeled themselves off the truck.

“Remember. We still have two more yards after this.”

“Oh right,” Hope corrected. “Yeah, this job sucks.”

“That’s the spirit.” MG lifted a hand to pat Hope’s back encouragingly as they crossed the yard, but then thankfully thought better of it. 

It was way too hot to be voluntarily touching.

xxxx

Hope came back from washing off her face in the bathroom, cool water still dripping from her hairline, to find MG halfway in the freezer. He appeared to be groaning. Possibly moaning. Whatever it was, avoided it completely. Hope hooked a hard left to where Josie was sitting at the kitchen table. 

“Hi,” Josie greeted her with a smile.

“Hi,” Hope said back, trying very hard to not feel like a musty sock that had slithered out from under a car seat. 

Over at the freezer, Lizzie reached around MG for the box of ice pops. “You should just jump in the pool, you dummy.”

At the suggestion, Hope’s eyes lasered onto her coworker’s face. “You are not jumping in the pool,” she said sternly.

“I know, I know.” He blew a raspberry and plopped down in the seat next to his girlfriend. 

At his easy and weary acceptance of this edict, Lizzie raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like there’s a story here. Don’t even think about touching the lime or else it’s back out in the heat for you,” she said all in one breath as she upended the box of popsicles onto the table between them all. 

“Even me?” Josie asked innocently, finger toying with the edge of the plastic wrapper on a green popsicle tauntingly. 

“Especially you.” Lizzie snatched the green popsicle back from her twin with a hiss.

Josie grinned and shot Hope a look. “So anyway,” she said easily, picking up one of the less dangerous red popsicles. “You were saying, MG?”

“My first summer working with Hope I made the mistake of jumping in a client’s pool.” He shook his head, eyes wide. “You think it’d be great, right? _Wrong_. Miserable the rest of the day. Only thing worse than mowing in this heat is mowing in soaking clothes in this heat.”

Lizzie and Josie wrinkled their noses.

“I felt like a bag of steamed vegetables. And not the fancy, name brand kind. I’m talking the squeaky, rubbery discount kind.” He shuddered. “And the chafing!” 

Lizzie’s lip was curled when she responded. “That’s disgusting.”

“Agreed,” Hope said around her popsicle. “So there you have it. No pool-jumping on the clock.” 

MG made a face at her across the table and Hope casually moved the popsicle he had been reaching for just out of his reach. He leaned further across the table and she zagged it the other direction, just past his fingertips. MG rolled his eyes and reached for another popsicle closer to him. Lizzie moved that one. Hope gave the other girl an appreciative nod and MG fell back into his seat defeated.

“What about off the clock?” Josie asked, taking pity on the boy and sliding a third popsicle across the table, past both her sister and Hope and straight into MG’s lap. His surprised yelp cut Lizzie and Hope’s pouts short. 

After Hope stopped laughing and MG gathered his wits back, they asked at the same time. “Off the clock?” 

“Jinx,” MG crowed in delight at his coworker before anyone else could speak. 

Hope opened her mouth to tell MG they were way too old for that kind of dumbshit before Josie jumped in with a hand on her wrist. 

“Nope,” Josie shook her head and smiled serenely at Hope. “House rules, I’m afraid. We take our jinxes very seriously here, don’t we, Lizzie?”

“God, yes,” Lizzie grouched, aggressively biting at her popsicle. “One time in 4th grade, Josie jinxed me for like a _week_. It was _horrible_.”

“It was wonderful,” Josie corrected. Then, at Hope’s alarmed look, Josie rolled her eyes. “It was like two hours, tops.” 

“Whatever. Basically the same thing at that age. It was traumatizing, is the point. Josie traumatized me. Willfully.”

MG patted her hand kindly in support and Hope huffed. She continued to eat her popsicle in pouty silence. The only consolation was that Josie hadn’t moved her hand from Hope’s arm.

If it had been anyone else touching her while she was still cooling off, Hope would have been annoyed. When the heat was this high, there was nothing worse than a warm hand or arm on your already overly warm body. She felt gross enough in her still sweaty work clothes without someone pushing extra body heat on her. 

As Josie dragged her hand down across Hope’s freckled skin and her thumb swept surreptitiously over the delicate bones in Hope’s wrist, though… She found she didn’t mind the other girl’s touch, at all. Wouldn’t mind if Josie were to touch her more often, actually. 

She and MG’s job was dirty, there was no sugar coating that fact. Sometimes literally. MG had slipped and eaten complete shit in a mud puddle just yesterday. But even when they stayed on their feet and out of the dirt, Hope was all too aware of the short work their long hours in the sun, and heat made of their personal hygiene. 

While her past boyfriends and girlfriends had never come out and point-blank asked Hope to shower before she came over on days she had to work, it was still an understood expectation. She was even conscientious of this fact when she met clients -- not embarrassed, mind you, just _aware_ \-- and made sure to stand a few feet away when she interacted with them while on the job. 

It was just polite. 

This applied doubly when she was around Josie. Josie who always smelled so nice. Josie who always looked fresh and like she had just changed into a cute outfit moments before Hope rang her doorbell. 

That was why Hope had used her bandana to wipe off Josie’s cheek the other afternoon instead of just her thumb. Of course, she had wanted to reach out and touch Josie’s face, feel the apple of her cheek under the pads of her thumb, the sweep of her brow bone under her fingers, but she didn’t think Josie would appreciate having sweat and grime rubbed across her face. 

But the thing about Josie was… That she never seemed to notice or care about that. She leaned into Hope’s space as they talked on the porch or in the backyard. She didn’t think twice about reaching out and touching her wrist like she was doing now. 

Maybe Hope needed to reevaluate the no-touching rule she had instituted for herself. 

“So, what was this you were saying about off-the-clock swimming?” MG asked.

Josie perked up beside Hope. “Oh, yeah.”

“You guys should just come back later and swim after you’ve finished mowing?”

MG, being the only one of the Mikaelson employees allowed the luxury of speech, spoke for both of them. “That could work,” he grinned at the twins before lobbing a wink at Hope. “Eh, unnamed, gloriously quiet coworker of mine? Doesn’t that sound nice?”

Hope shot him the finger around her popsicle.

“Not today, though,” Lizzie cut in quickly before anyone’s hopes could get too high. “The new issue of Silk just came out and, MG, you promised you’d go pick it up with me.”

The two comic book nerds made lovey-dovey eyes at each other across the table as they talked about their date that evening. 

Josie made theatrical gagging sounds (Hope would have joined in herself had she not thought the effect would have been lost without the retching noises) and turned in her chair to Hope. “Fine. But you will have to swim at the party. Ok, _Hope_?” 

And Hope knew she was just overexaggerating her name to rub in that she’d released the jinx, but still. There was something about Josie saying her name, coupled with that very pointed eye contact and the fact she was still touching Hope’s fucking arm.

Hope nodded, voice sounding suddenly hoarse. “Ok,” she echoed, not breaking eye contact.

“Good.”

“God, and you say we’re gross,” Lizzie complained from the other side of the table. 

It was only as Josie pulled away and the conversation continued around her, that Hope really thought about what she’d just agreed to. Swimming. Together. She and Josie. 

What if Josie was as free with her touches then? While they were half-clothed in their swimsuits?

Hope had a hard enough time managing when Josie wore a crop top and shorts. 

She shot a furtive look at the girl in question. Josie was laughing at whatever MG was saying, Lizzie squealing and chiming in, and Hope’s chest felt tight at the sight. Josie’s cheeks red and her smile wide and easy before she hid her eyes behind a hand as Lizzie apparently proved too embarrassing.

Hope didn’t even realize her popsicle had started to melt until it ran down her fingers. The cold shocked her back into the present but as she licked her fingers clean and started in on her popsicle. Enough daydreaming. 

Josie slid her a napkin and MG grabbed another popsicle.

xxxx

“Oh, by the way,” MG said when Hope hopped into the truck after the last yard on Thursday, “Lizzie told me to tell you that--”

“Wait.”

MG waited. Hope flipped the AC up to full blast and directed all available vents into her face. It wasn’t as humid today as it had been on Tuesday, but it was still hot as hell. 

Once the air felt like it was being blown from the freezer, not the oven, MG opened his mouth again. Hope held up a single finger before he could say another word. “Windows.”

MG rolled his eyes and the passenger side window up. 

Hope did the same on her side. Now that most of the afternoon’s magmatic air should have been blown out, the cab of the truck could finally begin to be inhabitable again.

MG held a hand out between them, palm up in supplication. “Now, may I address the court?”

Hope held her own hand up, palm perpendicular to his, and flopped into the worn fabric of the driver seat. “You know the rules, MG. First, we re-solidify into people. Then, we talk.”

So that was a no. 

Hope dug in the ice chest in the backseat floorboard and grabbed them each a gatorade. MG took his gratefully, thankful for the cool beverage after the beating that was the Rasmussen’s yard.

He wasn’t thankful enough to not slap Hope’s hand away from one of his vents, though. She wasn’t the only one who could sling rules around like Chinese throwing stars.

Eventually, solidification reestablished, Hope lolled her head to look at him. “Ok,” she heaved out a sigh. “You may proceed.”

“Thank you. So, anyway, as I was saying before I was so _rudely_ inter--”

“Hey, you know the rules!”

He nodded. “I do. But I also figured that Josie may be cause to break the rules. How silly--”

Hope sat up, suddenly looking more alert. “Josie? What about Josie?”

“See, aren’t you wishing you had let me talk earlier?”

“I’m letting you talk now and it still isn’t getting us anywhere. What about Josie?”

MG pursed his lips. “I think I liked you more without the pining. You were at least fifteen percent less of an asshole to me.”

“I’m always an asshole to you, MG, it’s part of our charming dynamic. Now spill before I make you walk back to the garage.”

“See? This is what I’m saying. You’re no fun anymore.” At a sharp look, MG held his palms up and relented. “Fine. Lizzie wanted _me_ to tell _you_ that _Josie_ wanted to know if you’d help her hang a bird feeder after work today.”

“As in right now?” 

“Yes.” MG nodded his head slowly. “Unless you know of another yard we have to mow today that Frey forgot to put on our schedule…?”

In answer, Hope lunged forward and threw the truck in drive. “Josie wants me to come over now and you’re only just now telling me this?” She screeched as she peeled away from the curb. 

“What’s the big deal?” MG hurried to put on his seatbelt and secure their drinks. “She sees you in your work clothes every Tuesday.”

Hope scoffed. 

She looked down at her work shirt. She’d forgotten to toss her regular company t-shirts in the wash last night and had been forced to wear one of the douchey collared one today. The only saving grace was that the fabric was remarkably stain- and smell-repellant. That and the faded pastel mint green did look pretty nice against her hair. 

She could make this work, she supposed. “Fine,” she ground out more to herself than to the boy waiting for her answer next to her.

“So… Can I tell her you’ll be over after dropping off the trailer and stuff?”

“Yeah. Like half an hour?”

“Cool, cool,” he fired off a text. “Oh,” he turned to pin Hope with a raised eyebrow. “Lizzie also told me to tell you that you need to grow some lady balls and ask for her sister’s number because she is over playing courier.”

Hope snorted. “I assume that’s a direct quote.”

“Do you really think I would use the phrase ‘lady balls’ if it wasn’t?”

“Fair.”

A moment passed in silence while Hope mentally weighed the merits of rebraiding her hair before MG spoke up again. “I mean it is kind of weird that you haven’t--”

“Yeah, I know,” Hope cut him off huffing loudly. 

She hated that smug, knowing tone of his. She was used to MG being the bumbling goof when it came to girls. Now that the shoe was on the other foot and he lorded it over her, it irked Hope like no other. 

“It just hasn’t really come up and I don’t want to read into things.” She said, and she knew her tone was bordering on a whine, but she didn’t care. She was tired of everyone and their dad -- _literally!_ \-- getting on her case about this. As if she herself wasn’t the one missing out by not having Josie’s number. 

“Dude. Mrs. Jefferson said you guys basically planted a love fern the other night, so, like…”

They stopped at a light and Hope squeezed her eyes tightly shut in annoyance. “It was a crape myrtle and we planted it because it is pretty and Josie liked it, _not_ because of whatever the hell it symbolizes.”

Hope opted not to mention the fact that Josie had apparently known what they symbolized if memory served her correctly. MG was insufferable enough already.

“Mmhm.”

Case in point. 

“Whatever!” The light turned green and they continued. She changed the subject. “Are you coming over, too?” 

“Why, worried I’d salt what little game you have?” 

Hope shot him a deadly look. 

He grinned charmingly. He’d known Hope long enough not to take offense when she got spicy. “But no, you’ll be representing Mikaelson Lawn & Landscaping by yourself tonight. I have a family dinner.”

Hope hummed. She couldn’t decide if that was for better or worse. On the one hand, it would give her and Josie more time together by themselves. On the other, it would give her and Josie more time together by themselves. 

It was like a goddamned gordian knot. The only way to cut through this intractable situation would be finding out one way or another what Josie’s feelings were. If she was in this alone or if Josie thought about her half as much as she thought about Josie. 

As they got their gear checked back in, Hope moved on autopilot. Maybe she should just ask Josie point-blank. One of the other employees dropped a piece of equipment onto the concrete floor behind her, the sound echoing amongst laughter through the enclosed garage. 

Yeah, Hope thought, what a laughably stupid idea that would be. 

She dropped the keys in the office and when she exited out into the gravel lot, MG was waiting for her by their cars. “Should I tell Jo you’re on your way or are you gonna go waste some more time hyperventilating somewhere?”

“I was not--” She stopped, closed her eyes, and took in a deep cleansing breath. When she opened them, MG was still mugging insufferably into her face, but at least she didn’t feel the overwhelming urge to kick him in the shins. “Yes, please.”

MG saluted and typed out a quick text. His eyes flipped between his screen and Hope’s face like a deck of cards. “Don’t forget your homework tonight,” he said, thumbs still flying over the screen.

“Do I even want to know?” Hope muttered to herself, making her way around to her driver side door. 

“Her phone number, Hope,” MG said plaintively. “Get the woman’s phone number lest we all perish from secondhand pining.” He propped his forearms on the roof of her car to lean condescendingly across to her. It lasted for approximately 0.3 seconds before the heat from the metal, having sat out in the late July heat all day, scorched his skin.

Hope allowed herself a small morsel of pleasure in his wild yowl of pain as he jerked back from the car rubbing his arms to check if his arms had been to flash-fried bacon. She didn’t see any blood so she didn’t feel too bad for finding amusement in his antics.

“Her phone number!” MG yelled over her cackling. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Hope called back to him as she slid into the oven that was her car. She rolled down the windows like they had done twenty minutes ago in the truck. “I heard you the first eighty times. I’ll see you tomorrow. Try not to hurt yourself any more tonight, ‘kay, Captain Smooth?”

MG waved goodbye around a grimace and Hope pulled away. She slid on her sunglasses and tried to put his words out of her head. She was nervous enough without MG’s added pressure. 

xxxx

Hope did not end up asking for Josie’s phone number that night. 

She meant to. Honestly, she really and truly did. It was right there on the edge of her tongue. If only so that everyone would stop heckling her. But then the bird feeder needed to be moved and then. Well, then Hope got distracted. 

Hope stepped down off the ladder and stood beside Josie to admire their handy work. 

“Whaddya think,” she asked the taller girl. She put her hands on her hips and waited for Josie’s verdict. “Too high?”

Josie tilted her head this way and that to look at the bird feeder hanging from a chain in the tree. Hope couldn’t drag the grin off her face if she’d tried. Not that she did.

“It’s perfect,” Josie announced.

“Awesome. Let me just put the ladder up and-- _Oof_.”

Hope was suddenly in the hammock. 

And so was Josie.

“The ladder can wait for a bit,” Josie said, giggling and jostling them into a comfortable spot. “Let’s just chill for a sec. You must be exhausted after work.”

“Well,” Hope said, focusing very closely on remembering how to form words with a pretty girl pressed so close to her. “You’re the boss.”

Josie laughed. “As much as I like the sound of that, no one’s the boss right now actually. You’re off duty, remember?” She wiggled down a little more until she and Hope were smushed in beside each other from shoulder to hip to knee to sneaker. 

Josie’s shirt rucked up in the movement and Hope, for a moment, saw an inch of Josie’s tanned stomach along the top of her shorts and absolutely nothing else. 

Is this what a bull sees when a matador flaps a cape at it, she wondered, eyes still zeroed in on the expanse of uncovered skin. If Hope stretched her left hand out just a scant couple of centimeters more, she could brush the back of her pinky and ring finger against it.

“This is nice,” Josie said conversationally. 

Oh to be blissfully unaware of the fresh hell one was inflicting, Hope thought longingly. 

She pulled her eyes away from the girl laying next to her and pinned her gaze resolutely to the branches above their heads. 

“It is, yeah,” she said and found herself meaning it. 

Minor panic attack aside, it was quite nice, actually. There was a nice breeze playing through the yard back here and the sun was low enough behind the fence they didn’t need to shade their eyes anymore. 

“Look,” Josie said excitedly. She pointed along the back fence line. “Fireflies.”

“Oh hey,” Hope said. “Would you believe your eyes--”

“No,” Josie laughed. “Nope. Definitely not. You are not singing that song. No offense to Owl City, but we deserve better than that.”

“Wow. No love for the Classics, I see you, Saltzman.” 

“In what world is Owl City deemed a Classic, Mikaelson.”

“Ooh, _someone_ ’s an elitist. Getting a headstart on fitting in at Wellesley, eh?”

Josie scoffed indignantly.

“Well, no matter. I’ll keep all of this in mind should ten thousand lightning bugs swarm and start foxtrotting above our heads.”

“Hope Mikaelson,” Josie cried amidst giggles. “Do not make me tip this hammock over. I will do it. I brought you into this hammock, I am not afraid to take you out of it.”

At Josie’s threatening wave of her arms, Hope threw up her own hands to block the attack, biting down on her laughter. “Ok, ok. Truce!” Hope gasped breathlessly, “Truce, I promise no more pop references! Please don’t kick me out of the hammock. Have mercy!” 

Appeased, Josie settled back down with a grin and the two girls got comfortable again. It was lighter in their little world encapsulated by the trees and the ropes of the hammock. Hope swore she could taste still between them in the air. It soothed her nerves from earlier. 

Sometimes she got so wrapped up in her own head, she missed out on enjoying the feeling of actually being with Josie. Hope inhaled deeply and allowed her arms and legs to settle into the hammock, allowed herself to exist in Josie’s space and vice versa. There was no space between them at the moment, the joy still fluttering over them like an aura, for fear about what Josie was or was not feeling. 

The hammock swung back and forth softly, carried along by their remaining initial momentum. It was quiet save for the leaves rustling above and the rhythmic creak of the hammock’s ropes against their metal hooks. 

“I’ve been wanting to do this for a while,” Josie said into the easy silence.

Hope looked at her. “What? You mean you haven't laid in the hammock until now?”

With her head turned, Hope could see Josie roll her eyes. “No, Hope, I’ve laid in the hammock plenty.”

“Then--” Josie turned and silenced Hope with a look. Their faces were even closer now than they’d been on Tuesday afternoon. Hope was so beyond glad she hadn’t worn another baseball cap today. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Josie breathed just as quietly. 

She could smell Josie’s shampoo. It mixed in with the warmth of their bodies pressed close. Created something wholly unique to them and that moment, Hope felt. Hope’s eyelashes fluttered. 

The hammock shifted lightly, their bodies molding around each other as Josie moved. Her elbow rubbed against Hope’s and then… The feel of Josie’s hand sliding unmistakably into Hope’s. Hope’s breath caught in her throat as Josie’s fingers tangled with hers. 

Had anyone ever felt more from a brush of palms? Hope was willing to bet that survey would come back with a resounding no.

She was so busy cataloging by feel each square centimeter of Josie’s hand in her own, she almost missed Josie tilt her chin, turning her face a smidgen closer to Hope’s. Hope felt the next exhale on her own lips and swallowed.

She couldn’t kiss her from here, but it was still a tantalizingly near thing. Laying as they were, on their backs next to each other in an unstable hammock, Hope was quickly realizing it would take some concerted effort to line their lips up. But Hope was willing to put that effort in. Willing to put in all kinds of effort actually. Definitely. 

Josie was worth it.

Hope was just mapping out the immediate next steps she needed to take to make this kiss a reality _finally_ when the slam of the back door cut through the tension between them like an electric tree trimmer. 

Josie startled at the loud noise, only narrowly avoiding knocking her head against Hope's together. _Small mercies_ , Hope thought. She'd take it.

If any hopes of salvaging the moment had survived that interruption, they were quickly squashed. 

“Hey, losers!” Lizzie trilled from the back porch. “Pizza’s here! Quit canoodling and get in here. If I have to play a game of Monop Deal with dad by myself I’m moving into the dorms early!”

Josie’s forehead fell to Hope’s shoulder with a sigh that to Hope’s ears sounded just as disappointed as she personally felt.

“I didn’t know people still said ‘canoodling.’”

The laugh Josie snorted out almost made up for the whole thing. Almost.

xxxx

A few games of Monopoly Deal later, found Josie walking Hope to her truck.

“I’m gonna have to get a deck for my house. I think my aunts would love that game.”

“Another convert. My dad will be so pleased,” Josie grinned, leaning against Josie’s truck. 

Josie hadn’t stepped away, was still standing close to Hope, so Hope didn't immediately open the car door, instead opting to lean next to her. 

It was dark and the street was quiet and Hope felt a little brave. “Maybe you could come show them how it’s done some time.”

“I’d like that.”

“Cool.” Hope looked at her sneakers on the concrete and tried to think of something else to say.

Josie reached out and touched the tip of the bandana still tied around Hope’s neck like a neckerchief. “I like this by the way. I meant to tell you that on Tuesday.”

“Oh, uh thanks.” Hope had forgotten she still had it on. She wore it on hot days to keep her neck cool, but it now, as Josie’s fingers still barely brushed one corner of the bandana knotted around Hope’s throat and Hope feels her blood warming exponentially every second she keeps her fingers there, Hope was beginning to wonder its efficacy. 

“It’s cute,” Josie breathed, still maybe looking at the bandana, maybe looking a little higher at Hope’s lips. Hope couldn’t honestly tell; everything has gone a little fuzzy as she tried to maintain a normal breathing pattern.

What the hell was she supposed to do with her hands? Josie was still playing with the fabric knotted 'round Hope’s neck and Hope can’t honestly remember a time her hands have ever felt more flailing and more useless. 

Whatever zen she’d experienced in the hammock earlier had been chucked out the window and backed over with one of the industrial, zero-degree-turn mowers Freya forbid MG and Hope from even looking at in the garage. Hope felt every single neuron in her body firing on high.

How was anyone supposed to know what to do when Josie Saltzman’s lips are parted ever so slightly and are just? Just _right_ there. Inches from Hope’s own.

“You’re cute,” Hope said softly and without meaning to like a complete dumbass. “Uh, I mean.”

Josie’s eyes crinkled at the corners as she looked up at Hope. “Thank you,” she said just as softly. 

If Hope’s pulse was beating any faster, Josie was going to think she had a lawnmower under her shirt. 

Hope breathed in a deep breath and, finally, finally remembered what to do with your hands when you’re kissing a pretty girl. She angled off the side of the truck and lifted her hand up to Josie’s jaw.

It was centimeters, nay, millimeters from touching when headlights cut across them, blinding both girls. 

“Fuck,” Josie grunted, squinching her eyes shut and turning her head from the car driving down the street.

“You can say that again,” Hope sighed. Three times. That was three. Fucking. Times. She’d tried to kiss Josie Saltzman only for the universe to pull the rug out from under her. 

She leaned back flat against the side of the truck and rubbed her face in her hands as the car passed them and parked two driveways down. She willed herself not to stomp her foot in frustration. 

“Your neighbors have almost as good of timing as your sister does.”

Josie laughed as the sound of car doors slamming echoed down the quiet street.

Three times she had come so close to heaven only for the pearly gates to slam in her face. She was starting to worry that maybe the universe was trying to tell her something. 

Hope straightened and turned back towards her driver side door. “I’ll, uh, see you Tuesday?” She said, opening her door, any last vestige of privacy vanishing with the flick of her automatic overhead light. 

Josie pulled herself off the side of the truck. “Tuesday,” she nodded. 

“Cool. Yeah.” Feeling very much like she just watched her snowcone fall onto the ground, Hope got in the truck and closed the door. Almost immediately, Josie knocked on the window.

Hope rolled down the window. “Hi.”

Josie leaned in, hand on Hope’s jaw, and kissed Hope’s cheek. “I think you’re cute, too, by the way. Even without the bandana. Just in case that wasn’t obvious,” she said into the warm summer darkness, hand still holding Hope’s face close. 

And then she was gone. 

Hope waited until Josie waved goodbye and closed her front door before dropping her forehead to her steering wheel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just think a cheek kiss :) can be something :) that’s so personal :) sometimes. Don’t you? :)
> 
> on the real, I'm soooo sorry to have left y'all hanging on this. 2020 was *gestures vaguely and with obvious exhaustion* i hope everyone's 2021 is miles better!


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